


From This Day Forward: Courage and Commitment

by flawedamythyst



Series: From This Day Forward [4]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Arranged Marriage, Deaf Clint Barton, Disabled Bucky Barnes, Domestic Violence, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, PTSD, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23317294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flawedamythyst/pseuds/flawedamythyst
Summary: Bucky couldn't keep in a smile and kissed Clint's neck again, then let his eyes fall shut. He couldn't imagine having a nightmare tonight, not when he couldn't remember ever feeling happier.Everything Bucky has ever wanted seems to be falling into his lap, but he's beginning to realise that he can't expect Clint to open up completely unless Bucky manages to do the same in return. Can he bring himself to take the risk of showing Clint all the broken pieces of himself?And will Clint be able to overcome his own fears in the wake of an unexpected visit to his family home?
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: From This Day Forward [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638448
Comments: 343
Kudos: 762
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The final fic in the series! Thank you so much for coming along on this slow, slow burn with me. Huge love and thanks to Nny and CB for being this fic's godmothers.
> 
> This one was written for my Winterhawk Bingo square of 'Accidental Nudity'. And yes, the rating has ticked up to Explicit, would you look at that?

When Clint had offered him the choice of which side of the bed he wanted to sleep on, the first thought Bucky had had was to keep the remains of his left arm as far away from Clint as possible. A second later, however, he had remembered lying awake on their wedding night, listening to Clint breathe and fantasising about being able to roll over and hold him. He wanted to put himself in a position where he’d be able to do that most easily, so he'd chosen the side that meant that if it did, he'd have an arm to hold Clint with.

He hadn't truly thought that would happen while at Shield House, but he hadn’t been able to deny how much closer they were now than on their wedding night. He’d thought that perhaps it would be something they could build to, in the same way it felt they were building to other things. By putting himself in the correct position for it now, he’d hoped to be in place to hold Clint when he eventually decided he wanted that.

But now it was actually happening. And not just that, but he'd also got to dance with Clint not just once but several times, he'd seen him smiling and laughing in society where he belonged, and they'd crept away to a quiet place to share an intimate moment. This had been everything he'd ever wanted from a ball that they attended together.

And that had all been before they'd come upstairs. Bucky pressed his face closer into the back of Clint's neck, risking a soft kiss there. He'd finally seen Clint's shoulders uncovered, and they were just as glorious as he'd imagined. He'd kissed them and made Clint moan under his touch, and Clint had been just enthusiastic in return, at least until Bucky had pushed too far and he'd pulled away. But even then he'd come back to Bucky, he'd wanted Bucky's arm around him and he'd felt safe enough in Bucky's hold to fall asleep. 

Bucky couldn't keep in a smile and kissed Clint's neck again, then let his eyes fall shut. He couldn't imagine having a nightmare tonight, not when he couldn't remember ever feeling happier.

****

When he woke up it was still early, but Clint was no longer in bed with him. Bucky immediately roused himself, pushing himself up on his arm to find Clint stood in the window, staring away over the woods in the direction of Waverley Hall. Lucky was at his side, weight pressed against Clint’s leg in what looked like a comforting gesture, while Clint’s hand was idly trailing over his ears. From the quality of light coming in, it couldn’t have been much past dawn.

“Are you well?” asked Bucky, sitting up further. Clint glanced over at the movement and he signed the question, remembering how Clint had been wincing at every noise by the end of last night. He didn’t know how long it took for his ears to recover from that kind of abuse, but he didn’t ever want to be a source of pain.

Clint managed a smile. “Yes, I’m sorry,” he said, at a normal volume that made Bucky think that perhaps his hearing had recovered overnight. Clint came back over to the bed, although he didn’t get in properly. He just sat on the edge and reached out to take Bucky’s hand, apparently without thinking. Bucky let him take it, giving his fingers a squeeze because he looked tired and sad.

“I would have thought you’d sleep late, after all that dancing,” he said.

Clint gave him a rueful smile. “You are not the only one who gets nightmares,” he said, softly.

Bucky hoped, with everything he had, that Clint’s nightmares were nowhere close to how terrible his own could be.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, stroking his thumb over the back of Clint’s hand. “Can I do anything to help? What do you need?”

Clint just shook his head. “I think it’s that my ears still hurt from last night, and my mind translated that into the memory of them being damaged in the first place,” he said and Bucky made a note to keep the world as quiet and calm as he could around Clint for the day. “There’s nothing to be done and I’m awake now, at any rate.”

He glanced at the window again. “I was just thinking...my mother will be awake already, but my father won’t be up for another couple of hours, at least, and it’s only a fifteen minute walk through the woods. Do you think it would be rude of me to go for an early morning visit?”

“Not at all,” signed Bucky, mouthing the words but not saying them out loud. He’d seen the frequency with which Lady Barton wrote to Clint, and the mixture of worry and pleasure that Clint greeted her letters with. He swung his legs out of bed. “Come on, we’ll both go.” 

He didn’t know enough sign for the next sentence, so he said it aloud and wished that he was learning the language quicker. One day he and Clint would be able to carry an entire conversation without needing their hearing at all and he would be able to let Clint’s ears rest properly after a difficult evening. 

“I should like to get to know my mother-in-law better.”

Except it wasn’t quite that easy, of course. Neither Coulson nor Falsworth would have risen yet, and Bucky didn’t like to wake them when they would have been up late helping with the ball. Clint was able to find and pull on some clothes easily enough, but Bucky came face-to-face, once again, with the truth that although a valet was a luxury for most men of their class, he relied on Falsworth for things he couldn’t manage himself. He’d retreated to the dressing room to find clothes but although he managed to pull his breeches on well enough, he couldn’t do the buttons up at all. He growled with frustration, then dragged a shirt around his shoulders, hiding the remains of his arm, took a deep breath, and went back through to the bedroom.

Clint was sitting on the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots, and Bucky realised he’d need assistance with that task as well, once he’d got that far. Clint glanced up when Bucky came in, then went very still, his eyes running over the dishevelled state of Bucky’s dress, the open placket of his breeches and the skin revealed by the gap of his unbuttoned shirt.

“Maybe we should just stay here and pick up where we left off last night,” said Clint, which hadn’t been what Bucky was expecting at all. The knowledge that Clint might find his state of undress a cause for titillation rather than concern that a grown man couldn’t dress himself hadn’t even occurred to him.

“I can’t manage the buttons,” he said, awkwardly, rather than following his initial desire to just tumble Clint back against the bedsheets and kiss him until all his reservations were forgotten. Clint wanted to see his mother and this was likely to be the only time he could do so without also having to deal with his father. Bucky wouldn’t take the chance from him.

Clint stood up and came over at once. “Let me help,” he said, and started with the ones on Bucky’s breeches, making heat rise to his cheeks as he felt Clint’s hands move so close to where he most desired them.

“Thank you,” he signed, rather stiffly, and Clint just grinned at him, that sunny, lit-up grin that always made Bucky lose track of his thoughts.

“You’re very welcome,” he said. “It’s the least I can do.”

He moved on to the shirt before Bucky could find a response to that, fingers grazing over the bare skin of Bucky’s stomach, and all thought fled.

It was strangely intimate in a way Bucky wouldn’t have considered, given that there was nothing but practicality to it when Falsworth did the same. This, though, Clint’s fingers moving nimbly up his body, his face close enough to Bucky’s that he couldn’t move his gaze away from the blue of his eyes; this was so much more.

When Clint finished, he set his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and leaned in for a brief kiss. “Do you need help with your cravat as well?” he asked.

Bucky had to clear his throat before responding. “Please.”

Clint tied Bucky’s cravat and helped him with his waistcoat and jacket before kneeling to lace his boots, and by the time Bucky was fully dressed, he was not in a fit state to greet his mother-in-law at all. He had to take a few deep breaths and remind himself that this was not the time for the many images that Clint’s actions had prompted.

“Is Lucky coming with us?” he asked, rather than dwelling on them. Lucky had watched their proceedings with great excitement, clearly thinking he was getting an early morning excursion.

Clint shook his head. “I won’t have him anywhere close to my father,” he said with a dark note in his voice that Bucky just nodded at. He didn’t want Lucky close to a man who killed dogs and deafened children either.

“We can take him out when we get back.”

Clint nodded and looked at Lucky. “Go to your bed,” he said, and Lucky’s whole posture slumped. He gave them both a beseeching look, but reluctantly slumped over to the cushions laid out for him when Clint repeated the command.

“I shall have to find some treat for him when we come back,” said Clint as they quietly left their room, shutting the door behind them. “Or he’ll never forgive me.”

Bucky snorted. “I think he’d forgive you anything.”

They crept through the silence of the sleeping house to the back door and let themselves out. Clint struck across the lawn towards the woods with a great deal of confidence and Bucky followed behind him. “Wouldn’t it be better to take the road?” he asked.

Clint glanced back and raised an eyebrow in question, so Bucky repeated himself, pitching his voice a little louder rather than letting himself succumb to the hush of the morning.

Clint shook his head. “It loops around and adds at least twenty minutes to the walk,” he said. “Natasha and I always met in the woods when we were children. The only problem will be the stream, but I should imagine we can easily get across it even if the fallen tree we used to use as a bridge has gone.”

There didn’t seem to be a path but Clint didn’t hesitate as they moved into the woods. Bucky put himself into Clint’s hands and just let himself enjoy the walk. There were birds singing around them, the sun was warming up enough to cut through the sharp edge of cold left over from the night, and his husband was beside him. 

The fallen tree was still where Clint remembered it and he clambered over as easily as if he were still a boy. Bucky was reminded of how easily he’d climbed a tree at Brooklyn.

Bucky found it rather more difficult, as his balance had never quite recovered from losing his arm. The tree was broad enough for him to make it, however, and Clint took his hand to help him down at the other end, and then kept hold of it as they walked the final distance, which more than made up for how clumsy it had made Bucky feel.

The woods ended behind the stables of Waverley Hall. Clint paused for a moment before he pulled Bucky out from behind them, glancing around as if expecting an enemy to attack.

But then, Bucky supposed he was. Bucky felt himself slipping into the vigilant mode that he’d perfected in Spain, when they’d known the French were near but not quite where. He and Clint crept across the courtyard to a side door that Clint opened cautiously. Inside, Bucky could hear servants talking in the kitchen near-by, but no one came out to find them as they moved down the corridor, out of the servants’ areas and eventually to the main hall, where Clint tapped on a closed door.

“Come in,” called a woman’s voice that must have been Lady Barton, and Bucky nodded at Clint.

They slipped inside and Lady Barton looked up from where she was sipping a cup of tea and staring out of the window.

“Clint?” she asked, standing up. With her back to the window, Bucky couldn’t see her face well, but he could hear the surprise in her voice. “Lieutenant Barnes? What are you doing here?”

Clint crossed the room to her, taking her hands. “We’ve been attending a ball at Shield House, and I thought I’d come over to see you.”

“Please forgive the unorthodox nature of our visit,” added Bucky, because he was very aware that they were breaking every rule of social interaction there was.

“Not at all,” said Lady Barton. “Clint! It’s so good to see you.” She brushed the hair back from his face and Bucky realised that neither of them had made an effort to tidy it that morning, so it was still as dishevelled as if he’d just climbed out of bed. “A ball? You were at a ball?”

Clint smiled back, quiet and pleased. “I know, it seems unlikely, but Natasha - Miss Romanov - still remembers our childhood friendship fondly, and Bucky was kind enough to take me. It was a lot of fun.”

Lady Barton turned to Bucky and smiled at him, and it was only then, with her facing him full on, that Bucky realised one of her eyes had been blackened. “My lady,” he said, stepping forward instinctively. “You’re hurt.”

“Oh,” she said, stepping back and lifting a hand as if to hide it. “It’s nothing. Just an accident.”

Bucky felt the rage he’d been doing his best to suffocate ever since he’d realised just how badly Clint had been treated by his father rise back up. “Like Clint’s ears?” he asked, possibly with too much emotion in his voice, because she did that thing that Clint always did when he lost control of his anger, hunching over as if trying to disappear into the floor.

“Mother,” said Clint, softly, putting a hand on her arm. “Are you-?” She flinched away and he cut himself off, then moved to hold her hand instead, carefully pulling back her sleeve to reveal a bruise so dark that Bucky could see each individual finger mark wrapped around her wrist.

“My god,” he said. “That brute!”

“Oh, no,” she said, “it’s not-”

“Mother,” said Clint. “Is this- has he got worse?”

She gave him a miserable look and a little shrug that spoke of so much hopelessness that it broke Bucky’s heart. “The house is very empty now, with you gone and Barney away,” she said.

Clint let out a sigh. “You mean, you’re the only focus for him,” he said. “Oh, mother.” He kept holding her hand, staring at her with a similar miserable, hopeless expression to the one that was on her face and Bucky abruptly had had enough.

“You’re coming with us,” he said. “You can't stay here.”

Both of them turned to stare at him with shock, and Bucky realised that Clint had inherited his mother’s eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Clint, but he didn’t sound entirely convinced.

“I’m his wife,” said Lady Barton, letting go of Clint’s hands and sitting back down with resignation. “I have to stay. Even if my wedding vows hadn’t made that clear, the law does.”

It sounded well worn, like something she’d been telling herself regularly for years.

“And what did his vows say?” asked Bucky. “It doesn’t seem as if he has been keeping them, so I don’t think you should feel obligated.”

“There’s still the law,” said Lady Barton doggedly. “It’s very kind of you to suggest it, but it can’t be done. This is my home, my husband. I can’t leave.”

Bucky caught Clint’s eye because he was frowning, looking torn, and he thought it would be rather easier to persuade Lady Barton with two of them. “I was rescued from torturers,” he said. “Men who hurt me just because they could, because it gave them pleasure. I can’t bear to leave someone else to the same fate.”

Clint stared at him with wide eyes, then looked back at his mother, at the bruise on her face. “She’s right about the law,” he said, but Bucky could tell he was halfway convinced.

“There’s no law against her visiting her son,” he pointed out. “And no one to complain if the visit lasts longer than expected.”

“He’ll complain,” said Lady Barton, shaking her head. “He’ll go straight to the constabulary. He won’t let me leave.” There was an edge of tears in her voice and the last thing Bucky wanted to do was distress her further but he couldn’t walk away from her, not now he’d seen and understood just how wretched her situation was.

“Let me worry about that,” he said firmly. “I will keep you safe, Lady Barton.” He hesitated and then added, “I would far rather deal with constables coming to my door to chase you than ones coming to tell Clint that his father has murdered his mother.”

She did start crying at that and Clint gave Bucky an anguished look before dropping into a crouch next to her chair, setting a hand to her shoulder. Bucky felt bad about her obvious distress, but it had needed to be said. They all knew that was where this was likely to end, and he wasn’t going to stand back and let it.

“Mother,” said Clint softly. “Please, come with us. It doesn’t have to be forever unless you want it to be, but come at least for a visit. Take some time without the fear of him.” He managed a weak smile that she probably didn’t see through her tears. “You can see my new range.”

She managed a damp laugh at that, looking up at him. “Oh, my boy,” she said softly, cupping a hand around his face. Mother and son stared at each other for a long time, and Bucky twitched with the urge to say something, or even to just bundle her up and carry her out of the house whether or not she agreed.

Instead, he waited, heart in his mouth, hoping that whatever they were communicating with their expressions would win her over.

“Please, mother,” said Clint softly. “Give yourself this chance. What do you have to lose?”

She let out a gentle sigh, then nodded. “Very well,” she said. “Oh god. Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll leave him.”

Clint’s face lit up, and Bucky would have paused to take in how beautiful it looked, but he was all too aware that they didn’t have much time before the Baron woke up, and things would be far more difficult if he got in their way. “Lady Barton, is there a servant you trust? Someone who won’t go to him to let him know what you’re doing?”

Clint snorted, standing back up. “No one here would risk waking him before he’s ready to be woken.”

“Isabella,” said Lady Barton, straightening her back. “My maid. She came with me from my father’s house.”

Bucky nodded. “Find her and get her to pack what you’ll need, and her own things. She can come with us. Don’t tell anyone else what’s happening.”

Clint might be certain that no one would go to the Baron, but Bucky couldn’t trust that, not when he knew that the servants here had taken their part in Clint’s own confinement and isolation.

Lady Barton nodded and left the room, looking calmer with an instruction to follow but still clutching her hands together. Bucky looked at Clint as she disappeared. “We’ll need the carriage,” he said. “I can go back to Shield House for it, but-”

“No,” said Clint. “I’ll go. I know the way through the woods, I can go faster.” He hesitated and then added, “And if my father does wake up, you are more likely to be able to defend my mother.” His mouth twisted unhappily. “I have never once managed it.”

He sounded so sad that Bucky couldn’t keep himself from leaning in to kiss him. “You’re protecting her now,” he said. “Be as quick as you can.”

Clint dashed off and Bucky let out a deep breath, his mind running through the logistics. They were meant to stay at Shield House for another night or two, but they couldn’t remain that close to Waverley Hall with Lady Barton. They’d need to head back today. Sam and Steve were meant to travel back to Brooklyn with them but there wouldn’t be room in the carriage with Lady Barton. At least one of them would have to find their own way home.

He couldn’t imagine them minding, once they found out why.

There would be room for the maid to travel in the second carriage with Falsworth and Coulson, so at least that wouldn’t be a problem. 

A footman came in, presumably to clear the tea things, and stopped dead when he saw Bucky. “Ah, my apologies, sir,” he said, looking as if he were about to back out.

“Don’t worry,” said Bucky, and stepped away from the table to gesture at it. “Please go ahead, I think Lady Barton has finished for now.”

If the man were busy dealing with dirty dishes, he wouldn’t start wondering if he should be rushing to his master about the unexpected early morning visit from his son-in-law.

“Of course, sir,” said the footman, and started to clear the table.

“Do you know if the Baron is stirring yet?” asked Bucky, keeping his voice light-hearted.

“Not yet, sir,” said the footman. “He’s usually another hour in bed.”

Another hour. That would have to be enough time. “I see,” said Bucky. “Well, I suppose my business with him will have to wait until then. Never mind, there’s no rush.”

The footman bowed his head and took the tray out, and Bucky hoped that his little charade had convinced him that Bucky’s presence was expected, and nothing to raise the alarm about.

Bucky glanced at the clock, and made a face to himself. Less than five minutes since Clint had left. He’d need at least fifteen minutes to get to Shield House, then time to get the carriage ready and back here. God, it was going to be so close.

Bucky paused and took a few deep breaths, because there was nothing he could do to hurry that up. He had to trust that Clint would get back here in time, that the Baron would stay asleep, that Lady Barton wouldn’t change her mind, that any number of a thousand other things wouldn’t go wrong.

He could feel tension tightening the muscles of his back and he made himself breathe and relax them, the same as he had used to before a battle, so that he would be limber and able to move easily. There was absolutely no reason why he’d have to fight this morning, but he couldn’t help the feeling that he’d need to be ready to.

****

Lady Barton was quicker than he’d feared she’d be. She came downstairs with her maid, both of them carrying bags and looking one sudden shock away from fainting, pale and terrified. Bucky did his best to give them a reassuring smile but he was all too aware that exuding confidence wasn’t his forte.

If only Steve were there.

“Clint will be here shortly with the carriage,” he said.

Lady Barton nodded, setting her bag down. She’d packed lighter than he’d have assumed and he wondered how often she’d lain awake at night, listing the things she’d take if she were just to make a run for it.

“There is no sign that my husband is stirring,” she said, “but…” she let the sentence trail off.

Bucky just nodded. “I know,” he said. “We will get away as soon as possible, I promise.”

As if his words had summoned them, there was the sound of horse hooves and the crunch of wheels on the drive. He glanced outside to see Clint jump out of the carriage and hurry to the front door. The coachman looked bedraggled, as if he’d been pulled from bed and not given enough time to dress properly.

Clint dashed in the front door and glanced at his mother and then up the stairs almost instinctively.

“He hasn’t woken yet,” said his mother.

Clint let out a sigh. “I was so worried I’d be too late,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest to catch his breath.

“There’s still time,” said Bucky.

“Not that much,” said the maid in a small voice that Clint clearly couldn’t hear, if the way he frowned at her meant anything. “Mr Garrett will be taking him his coffee in a minute or two.”

Bucky gathered up Lady Barton’s dropped bag. “Then it is time to leave,” he said, nodding her towards the door.

She took a deep breath and glanced around the hall, and then up the stairs as if waiting for the Baron to appear and stop her.

“Come on, mother,” said Clint, taking her arm.

She nodded hesitantly, and followed him out of the door. 

Bucky waited for the maid to gather her own bag and follow her out. Just before they crossed the threshold, there was a crash and a bellow from somewhere upstairs and she flinched and let out a quiet moan.

“Quickly now,” he said, wishing he had a second arm to grab her with and hustle her towards the coach.

He didn’t need it. She was clearly no more willing to be caught than Bucky was and scurried out to the carriage, handing her bag up to Clint and climbing in. 

Bucky was only a few steps behind her. “Go quickly,” he told the coachman as he climbed the steps. “Don’t stop!”

“Right you are!” said the coachman and whipped the horses up before Bucky had even sat down, making him lose his balance and nearly fall half on top of Clint before he was settled.

Not a moment too soon. A figure in a nightgown came dashing from the front of the house as they turned out of the drive, yelling something Bucky couldn’t make out.

All three of the others in the carriage flinched and Bucky reached for Clint’s hand, squeezing it. “You’re free of him,” he reminded him, then looked to Lady Barton. “You’re free.”

She managed a nod but her face was pale and he could tell she was still too scared for that to have sunk in. That seemed fair; it had taken him several miles of dusty Spanish hills before he’d truly realised that he had escaped El Casco’s control.

****

Miss Romanov and Colonel Fury were both waiting for them when they arrived at Shield House.

“What in God’s name have you done now, Barnes?” asked Colonel Fury as Bucky helped Lady Barton down from the carriage.

“I’m afraid we shall have to cut our time here short,” said Bucky without bothering to reply. “Is Steve awake yet?”

“If he’s not, he soon will be,” said Miss Romanov. “I’m sure he has a sixth sense for when you’re pulling one of your stunts.”

It had been a very long time since Bucky had pulled anything that might be referred to as a stunt. Not since Spain. It felt rather good to have the adrenaline flowing and to know he was doing something good and worthwhile again.

“Lady Barton,” said Colonel Fury with a short bow. “Welcome to Shield House. I wish the circumstances were better.”

“Thank you,” she said, still looking shaky from the shock of how fast things were moving. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to stay long.”

Miss Romanov nodded. “The servants are bringing your bags now,” she said to Bucky, just as Steve burst out of the house and strode towards Bucky with a black look. Bucky braced himself, moving a little apart from the others to avoid dragging them in to Steve’s usual drama.

“Lieutenant Barnes,” Steve snapped, and he was using his Captain voice, the one that made Bucky want to snap to attention and roll his eyes all at the same time. “Did you go on a rescue mission into enemy territory without informing the rest of us?”

Bucky did roll his eyes at that. “If I did, I learnt it from you,” he pointed out.

Steve took his shoulder and gave it a shake. “Next time, come and get me,” he said. “I can’t believe I missed out.”

“We didn’t intend it, we just went over for a visit,” said Bucky. “And then, well,” he glanced at Lady Barton, who was glancing over her shoulder at the drive, as if expecting the Baron to turn up at any moment. From this angle, her bruised face was clearly visible.

Steve followed his gaze and sighed. “I see,” he said, heavily. 

“We’re leaving now,” added Bucky. “There’s not room for both you and Wilson. I can send the carriage back if you need it?”

Steve shook his head. “I’d already decided to stay and spend a few days with Stark,” he said. “Sam is packing now to come with you, he has a sermon to get back for.”

There was an edge to his voice that made Bucky frown at him. Steve met his gaze, then set his jaw and dipped his eyes to the ground.

Bucky let out a sigh. “Stevie, what did you do?”

Steve just shook his head. “Now is not a good time,” he said, because Coulson and Falsworth had already come out to take charge of the luggage, and Lady Barton’s maid was stepping down from the carriage in order to travel with them instead. Lucky had come out with them, and Clint had dropped to his knees to accept his enthusiastic greeting.

Bucky made a face because Steve was right but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to be interrogated as to why he and Wilson had gone from dancing together and staring into each other’s eyes last night, to Steve running off to Stark Towers to hide this morning.

Wilson came out with his own case and was introduced to Lady Barton, and then they all climbed back into the carriage after bidding extremely hasty farewells. Bucky thought it was a good thing that they’d been staying with Colonel Fury and Miss Romanov, who knew them well enough to forgive some bad manners.

The Baron and his men hadn’t appeared by the time they rattled down the road towards Brooklyn and Bucky allowed himself a moment to relax. No doubt Lord Barton would turn up at Shield House soon enough, once he realised precisely what had happened, but Colonel Fury was more than capable of handling him.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” said Lady Barton, glancing out at the landscape. 

“It’s going to be alright, mother,” said Clint, reaching to take one of her hands. “I promise. Brooklyn is lovely, and you won’t have to be afraid there.”

She nodded, but she didn’t stop glancing at the road behind them as if expecting a chase.

Bucky could understand that. This wasn’t the same as taking Clint away from that house, after all. They were very much in the wrong in the eyes of both the law and society. Bucky would have to find some way to make the Baron give up on pursuing her.

Somehow.

For now, he just looked at Wilson and raised an eyebrow. “Steve said he’d already been intending to go and stay with Stark,” he said, leaving Clint space to talk to his mother.

Wilson sighed. “Indeed,” he said, tiredly. “He’s-” He paused and pressed his lips together. “I would say that I moved too hastily, but I am not sure I could have gone any slower, not and still made my feelings clear. He seemed receptive, after all, and last night…” he glanced at Lady Barton and then just shook his head at Bucky. “We spent some time together after the ball,” he said, as if everyone in the carriage wouldn’t know what that meant, if they were paying attention. “And then this morning, he woke up and… I don’t think it’s regret, but there is certainly guilt there.”

Meaning that Steve had finally let himself open up to Wilson and the possibility of something new, and then had suffered an attack of misplaced emotions over moving on from Peggy. Buckly sighed and wished he’d had the chance to shake the man before he left. It had been a long time since Peggy’s death and Steve deserved happiness. He couldn’t hold on to his grief forever, not when it was clear to everyone how he and Sam felt for each other.

“Stark will knock some sense into him,” he said instead.

“I hope so,” said Wilson, and left it at that.

****

For the first time, Bucky was grateful for the distance between Brooklyn and Waverley Hall. The further away they got, the more Lady Barton relaxed and the happier Clint got, chattering away happily to her about Brooklyn and his range, and every tiny thing that he and Bucky had done together since their wedding. Given how many letters he’d seen them exchange, he wasn’t sure that any of it was new to Lady Barton, but Bucky couldn’t find it in himself to pass judgment. If his mother had been in the carriage, he’d probably be doing the same.

He had to take a deep breath as the memory of finding out that his parents had both died while he’d been imprisoned by El Casco returned to him. That had hurt so much, to know that he’d lost his chance for a last conversation with his mother, or ride with his father. 

He couldn’t change that, but he could at least keep Clint from living through the same thing. He wasn’t going to let Lady Barton stay where the Baron could hurt her, even if it took all his resources to keep him from coming after her.

They dropped Wilson at his house in the village, then continued on to Brooklyn. Lady Barton watched the estate pass by with great interest. “I saw your house being built when I was a girl,” she said. “So long ago now. I never thought I’d be coming to stay in it.”

“I hope you like it,” said Bucky, and found he meant it. He wanted her to like the house he’d taken her son away to, and which he’d now brought her to.

“Oh, I’m sure I will,” she said. “I’m only sorry to intrude on you like this, with no definite end to my visit.”

“Not at all,” said Clint. “We’re happy to have you here. Just knowing you’re not in danger from him is such a relief. I’ve been so worried.”

Bucky frowned at him because he hadn’t said anything about being worried, or Bucky would have acted far earlier.

“Oh, I’m sure I would have been fine,” said Lady Barton, glancing at Bucky and then dropping her eyes as if embarrassed to have their family problems aired in front of him. “It hasn’t been as bad as all that.”

Clint just snorted his disbelief. “Don’t put on a brave face for Bucky,” he said. “He’s family.”

A warm glow spread through Bucky’s chest and he couldn't hold in a smile because it was clear from Clint’s tone just how completely he believed that. He thought of Bucky as his family.

“Well,” said Lady Barton, but didn’t add anything, glancing uncomfortably out of the window. “Oh, there’s the house. It’s lovely.”

“Look,” said Clint, “you can see my range there. Bucky insisted on putting it next to the house.”

Of course he had. He wasn’t going to have Clint hiding himself away in some distant corner of the grounds every day, not when he could be right there within hailing distance of Bucky’s office.

“It’s very nice,” said Lady Barton, in the tone of a woman who had spent twenty years pretending to be impressed by archery-related things. Bucky had to glance away to hide his smile.

****

Bucky hadn’t considered how it would feel to reach the end of that first evening with Lady Barton and have to separate from Clint when they reached their rooms, rather than following him to bed as he had the last two nights at Shield House. It had been bad enough to spend the evening without touching or kissing him, for that had started to be the norm for them, but Bucky had found himself content to settle with a book and let Clint and his mother converse if it meant seeing Clint’s smile and the way Lady Barton was letting herself relax into her new situation.

Sleeping in his own bed, without Clint’s warm shape beside him, was quite another thing.

“Good night,” said Clint, signing it as well, and Bucky repeated the gesture.

“I hope you sleep well.”

Clint nodded, hesitating for a moment before leaning in to kiss Bucky, his arms wrapping around his waist. Bucky gratefully held on in return, feeling the solid strength of Clint’s body against his and relishing how confident Clint had become with such gestures now. Nothing sent a thrill through him as electric-sharp as the one he got when Clint took control, even for a moment. Bucky wanted to give everything up to him and the signs that he might one day want to take it made his toes curl as he imagined the possibilities.

“Thank you so much for today,” said Clint, once their mouths had parted but their bodies were still clinging together. “I wouldn’t have even considered taking my mother away.”

“It had to be done,” said Bucky, and then let some of his fears seep out, because Clint deserved the truth from him. “I don’t quite know what we’ll do if he comes here to retrieve her, but I promise I won’t let him take her back. No one should be trapped with someone who hurts them.”

Clint’s smile softened into something so fond that Bucky couldn’t look at it without kissing him again, then reluctantly pulled away and stepped back. He hoped he’d dream of that smile tonight. “Good night, sweetheart,” he said.

“Good night, handsome,” Clint returned, and went into his room.

Bucky didn’t dream of Clint’s smile that night. Instead, he lay awake in the dark feeling cold and alone as the remnants of the adrenaline from that morning ebbed out of him. Although the Baron hadn’t appeared until they were already on their way and there hadn’t been an actual confrontation, Bucky still felt something like he had after a battle, trying to calm his body and mind enough to sleep without jumping awake at every tiny noise.

It didn’t work. When he did finally doze off his sleep was fitful and disjointed and he found himself awake again, staring out at the night sky, more than once. Then the nightmares found him and he went through two in a row, both bad enough to leave him sweating and shaky.

He gave up after that because he could feel the dark of the room closing in around him like a trap, like the dark in his prison had used to. He pulled himself out of bed and put on his dressing gown, shuffling over to the window seat where he had spent too many hours staring up at the stars to remind himself that he was free now.

It was a cloudy night so there were no stars or moon but the dawn wasn’t far off and he could see it starting to lighten the east. He opened the window enough to get a breath of chilly morning air and focused on the sun coming up.

He did his best to keep his mind off the dark memories of the past, thinking about Clint, and how it had felt to hold him as he slept, or when he leaned in to kiss Bucky without any hesitation, or the warmth of his skin when Bucky had rubbed the stress out of his shoulders for him.

The way he’d gasped as Bucky had kissed his neck, the shape of his thigh under Bucky’s hand, the obvious eagerness of his prick beneath his nightshirt before he’d pulled away. One day Bucky really hoped he would get to feel that for himself, get to wrap his hand around it, measure the hard length of it and find out what noises Clint might make as he came.

Here in the grey of the pre-dawn, trying to put aside the dark thoughts of the night, Bucky let himself think about his most private, cherished fantasy, of Clint pushing that prick inside him, using all the power of his body to make Bucky come apart because he wanted Bucky just as much as Bucky wanted him.

Those thoughts kept Bucky entertained for long enough for the sun to come up above the horizon and chase away most of the dark fears of the night. He could still feel the tension from his nightmares in his shoulders and across his back, and he thought he should probably start the day with a hot bath, even if it did delay him going down for breakfast. The last thing he wanted was to start Lady Barton’s visit with him being stressed and in pain. He didn’t want her to know that her son’s husband had those sorts of problems, not when she’d come here to escape a difficult husband herself.

There was a movement from the lawn below and Bucky looked down to see Lucky wandering across it, pausing for a quick sniff before cocking his leg. Bucky’s eyes darted over to the veranda to find Clint standing there, hands on his hips as he called something to Lucky.

He was wearing a pair of breeches and a rumpled shirt and nothing else, and Bucky realised he must have been woken up by Lucky and then, instead of calling a servant to take the dog out as anyone else would, of course he’d thrown on the first clothes he could find and gone out himself, in the pale light of the dawn.

Some of the tension in Bucky’s shoulders melted under the wave of affection for him.

Bucky watched as Lucky finished his business and wandered off towards the wood. Clint called after him and was ignored, so he just stood and waited until Lucky had looked his fill and come back to him, then took his collar and led him back inside.

Bucky leaned back against the wall once they were out of sight and felt a smile on his face. That was his husband, and their overly-spoilt dog. Whatever else was wrong with him, at least he had Clint.

The intrusive little voice that always whispered the nastiest things to him spoke up in the back of his mind, wondering just how long he would continue to have Clint. Now they were going out to balls and other social engagements, how long before Clint realised just how much better he could have done for a spouse and found someone else to spend his time with? Even if he were married to Bucky, they both knew that if he asked, Bucky would step aside to let him take a lover, or even several.

The thought was sharp blades of ice in his heart, even as he thought that it was what Clint deserved, far more than he deserved to be shut up with a cripple like Bucky.

No. No, that wasn’t the truth, that was just his demons. Bucky took a breath, and then another, and reminded himself that Clint had only ever moved closer to him, even when Bucky had started to show him the darker parts of him. He wanted this marriage to work as well. The way he had kissed Bucky last night had made that clear enough for Bucky to use the images of it to beat back the voice for a bit.

His shoulder twinged and he resettled himself, wincing, as he heard Clint’s bedroom door open and his voice fade into earshot.

“...no, Lucky, don’t- Aw, come on, silly dog, why do you always find the one clean thing to put muddy pawprints on? You know Coulson’s going to give me that disapproving look, don’t you? Come here.” There was a thump and a skittering of pawprints, then a scratch at the door between Bucky’s room and Clint’s. 

There was a pause, and then a quiet knock.

Bucky tugged his dressing gown a little more securely over his missing arm. “Come in,” he called, and then repeated it louder in case Clint’s ears were having a bad day.

The door opened hesitantly, until it was wide enough for Lucky to scamper through, pushing it wider as he bounded in, then trotted over to Bucky. He braced himself to be leapt on, but Lucky stopped by the side of the window seat, looking up at Bucky with a tilted head.

“Good morning,” Bucky said to him, reaching out to scratch his ears. “Are you already causing trouble?”

Clint snorted as he followed after Lucky. “I don’t think he ever stops.” When he’d thrown his shirt on to take Lucky out, he hadn’t bothered doing all the buttons up, and Bucky was treated to the sight of his neck and collarbones on display through the gap. He did his best not to stare too obviously, but he’d placed his mouth there now and it was all too easy to imagine doing it again.

“You look like you’ve been there a while,” said Clint, and Bucky tore his eyes away to look back down at Lucky.

“I had nightmares,” he admitted, feeling himself curl over at the memory of them.

Lucky stood up and set his paws on the edge of the seat and Bucky reached down to help him up. Lucky took a moment to squirm around on the limited space that the seat offered and Bucky thought he’d end up collapsed across his legs, but instead he stepped carefully between them and pushed his head into Bucky’s neck, licking for a moment before resting it there, a warm, reassuring weight.

Bucky ran his hand over Lucky’s head. “Good boy,” he said quietly to him. “You’re a good boy, Lucky.”

Clint put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and he glanced up at him to find a too-knowing look on his face. He just half-shrugged at him under Lucky’s weight, because he didn’t know how to explain that this was the price he paid for being broken and Clint should get used to it.

Clint nudged his shoulder. “Can I sit with you?”

“Always,” said Bucky, without hesitating.

Clint smiled at him. Instead of sitting at the other end of the seat and tangling their legs together like Bucky had assumed, he nudged Bucky’s shoulder. “Shift forward, then.”

Bucky did so, dislodging Lucky so that he pulled away and backed up a little, enough for Bucky to move forward so that Clint could climb in behind him, bracketing Bucky between his legs and then pulling him back to lean against his chest. He wrapped his arms around Bucky, carefully avoiding touching his left shoulder and the remains of his arm, and then held him close. “I’m sorry you had a bad night,” he said, quietly.

Lucky settled down over their legs and Bucky felt himself relaxing back into his husband’s arms. He clutched at one of the arms around him and leant his head back to rest on Clint’s shoulder, thick muscle cushioning his head.

God, this felt so good. He took a moment to shut his eyes and enjoy it, the warmth of his husband holding him close, the weight of their dog on his legs, and the spark of happiness that Clint had always prompted in him, that had never managed to flicker out even when El Casco had him, flared higher.

“I love you,” he said, because he was incapable of keeping those words in when Clint did something like this.

Clint pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I know,” he said.

Bucky felt broken open like this, all his emotions far too close to the surface so that he couldn’t stop himself from adding, “I’m sorry I’m like this. That I’m not whole for you. You deserve better.”

Clint was very quiet for a few minutes and Bucky let his eyes shut again, nestling back further into Clint’s arms. He was surrounded by him on every side, cradled close and safe. It was the best thing he’d ever felt.

“The first morning I woke up in Brooklyn,” Clint said quietly, “I felt very strange. I didn’t know what it was. It was as if I’d been wearing chainmail my whole life and someone had lifted off the weight, or I’d had a rock in my stomach that had dissolved overnight. I just lay in bed, feeling as if I could float away into the sky with how light and easy I felt. It took me a while to work it out, but it was the absence of fear. I’d spent my whole life terrified, even when I was a child, and then I came here and didn’t need to be scared any more. I hadn’t known I could feel like that.”

“Clint,” said Bucky, reaching to grab one of his hands, because he couldn’t bear to hear about just how miserable he’d been, not when he was the very last person who should have been made to feel like that.

Clint squeezed his hand back and kept talking. “This morning, my mother is going to wake up and feel the same thing,” he said. “She won't have to worry about making too much noise, or speaking out of turn, or even just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She can set all that fear aside, like I did. And that’s because of you. You did that, for both of us.” He pressed another kiss to the side of Bucky’s head. “So don’t ever say that I deserve better, because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and now to my mother as well.”

“Clint,” said Bucky softly, then couldn’t say any more, feeling as if his throat were closing up. Clint just tucked himself closer around Bucky’s back, holding him tighter, and kissed him again.

God, that felt like… A thrill ran through Bucky as the idea he couldn’t contain any more ran through his mind. This felt a lot like love. From both of them.

For the first time he let himself consider the idea that Clint might actually be starting to love him back, and had to take a breath as emotions threatened to choke him.

****

Clint held Bucky for a while longer, then left when Falsworth came in with Bucky’s morning coffee. Bucky bathed and dressed, ate breakfast with Clint and Lady Barton, and then went on a long ride and left Clint to help his mother settle in.

Lunchtime that day brought with it several letters, addressed to all three of them.

“Miss Romanov says that the Lord Barton arrived at Shield House in a towering rage about twenty minutes after we left, but that Colonel Fury spoke to him at length and he decided not to pursue us immediately,” said Clint, reading his.

Lady Barton took a deep breath. Her hands had shaken as she’d opened the envelope with her husband’s handwriting on it, but she’d done it without hesitation. “He has written to say that he expects me to make this a short visit, and I should be back home by the end of the week or he will come to fetch me.”

Bucky’s own letter from the Baron had clearly been written in a fury. The writing was sloppy and thickly engrained, and every other line was an insult. Clearly, Lord Barton had decided that Bucky was to blame for the loss of his wife, presumably because he’d beaten both her and Clint down so badly that he couldn’t imagine them having any agency of their own.

_How dare you believe that you could cross a member of the nobility when you’re nothing more than a jumped up peddler? If you think you can withhold my wife from me, you may think again. You will relinquish her to me, or I will bring the full weight of the law down on you, and you will never again be accepted into any kind of society._

Apparently all the allowances he had made for the Barnes family’s background when he was getting a nice payment in exchange for his son had disappeared.

The damned thing about it was that Lord Barton was at least partially right. If there was a large public scandal, then all those parts of society who thought a man’s worth was based on his ancestors would immediately take the Baron’s side, as the product of an ancient and noble family. The Barnes family was too new for anyone to have forgotten their origins, and still running a trading company to boot. The ranks of the nobility, and probably most of the gentry, would close up against them, shutting a lot of doors to both Bucky and Clint, to any children they might decide to adopt, and to Bucky’s sister as well, if she ever came home from China.

Not to mention the impact it might have on the business if their richer customers decided to go elsewhere for their silks. Viscount Jameson had just ordered new silk furnishings for the entirety of his new house, but he was the kind of stuffy man who would cancel the entire order if he thought Bucky was being disrespectful towards the titled nobility.

Of course, it wouldn’t matter a jot to any of Bucky’s actual friends, but he was all too aware that the sum total of those could be counted on his one hand.

“I should go back,” said Lady Barton. “I’ll stay a few days and then go home. It’s lovely to come and visit, but I won’t cause problems for you two, and the law-”

“Damn the law,” said Bucky, slamming the letter down onto the table. Both Clint and Lady Barton jumped and he took a moment to pause and rein in his temper. “My apologies for my language,” he said carefully, “but I will not see you go back into danger. If Lord Barton is willing to give his word that he will not lay a finger on you, and keep it, then that is one thing, but I don’t believe that is likely to happen.”

Clint shook his head. “He would never make a promise like that. He believes strongly that every man’s house is his castle, in which he may do as he pleases, and he won’t let any of us meddle with that.”

“Then I would strongly urge you not to go back,” Bucky said to Lady Barton. “I fear he will take out his temper on you, and I couldn’t stand to know that you were hurt because we couldn’t protect you.”

Clint took Lady Barton’s hand. “Stay here, mother,” he said. “Let us keep you safe.”

Lady Barton looked unhappily down at the letter again, then took a deep breath. “Very well,” she said. “I have gone this far, I may as well stick it out.” She found a smile and Bucky saw Clint in her features again. “Lord knows I wasn’t looking forward to going back to him.”

“Then you shan’t,” said Bucky. He gathered up Lady Barton’s letter from the Baron as well as his own. “I shall reply for both of us, making it clear that he would do best just to let the situation remain as it is, and let you find a new home here.” A thought occurred to him. “My father had a dowager house built for his mother, but she died before it was ready. It’s currently rented out but the family who have it will soon be moving to Brighton for the sea air, for the health of their children. I should be honoured if you’d let me offer it for you to live in so that you may find your own independence.”

Which would also allow for him and Clint to have their privacy again, although he felt bad to consider that as a motivation.

Lady Barton just stared at him. “I haven’t any money,” she said, softly. “I am already dependent on your generosity, I can’t-”

“Of course you can,” Clint interrupted her before Bucky could. “Trust me, Bucky wouldn’t offer if he wasn’t fully prepared and very happy to follow through. He’s an extraordinarily generous man.” The comment made Bucky startle and then duck his head to hide his blush, because was that truly how Clint saw him?

God, he hoped so.

“Take the house, mother,” continued Clint. “Set up your own household, where you needn’t fear anyone and can entertain your own society.” He paused and then added, “How long has it been since you were able to have friends around?”

She found a pale smile. “About as long as it’s been since I had friends, which is to say, since not long after my marriage.”

“There are several gentlewomen in the area who I am sure would be glad to make your acquaintance,” said Bucky. “It is just an idea but if you would like to have your own home, please do let us make it happen.”

She nodded her agreement, although he could tell from her expression that she wasn’t sure yet. Bucky left her to consider the matter and looked at Clint. “Will you be at your range this afternoon?”

Clint shook his head. “I thought I would show my mother the grounds.” He glanced at her. “If that’s agreeable to you?”

“Of course,” she said. “They look lovely, and I would love to walk with you.”

Bucky nodded. “I will be in my study. Please do let me know if you need anything.”

He left them to it, as much as he would have liked to tag along with them and listen to just how Clint described Brooklyn, to see if there was anything he should be doing to change it. He had to write back to the Baron and make it clear that he wasn’t going to be bullied by him, and then write to Stark and Steve, and probably Wilson as well, to see if they had any ideas on the best way to proceed.

****

That night, Bucky was tired enough that he should have managed to fall asleep almost immediately, but all he could do was keep running through the situation, trying to find an easy way out that would solve all their problems. If Lord Barton did arrive at Brooklyn with the constabulary, how was Bucky to persuade them to leave without Lady Barton?

There was a gentle tap on the door from Clint’s room, and he sat up. “Come in,” he called loudly, and the door creaked open. Clint was in one of his new nightgowns and holding a candle, and he looked cold in the night air.

“Hello,” he said, and he sounded hesitant in a way Bucky didn’t ever want him to be around him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, signing it as well and wondering if Clint could see that in the candlelight.

Clint came over to the bed, close enough for Bucky to see that his expression was just as hesitant as his voice. “I wondered-” He broke off and made a face. “This is silly,” he muttered.

“Of course it isn’t,” said Bucky, not needing to hear what it was to know that much. “What can I do for you?”

Clint took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. “I wondered if you would mind if I slept in here tonight,” he said. “I find I rather miss you at night, after sharing a bed at Shield House.”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from beaming at him. “You are always welcome here,” he said to him, moving over and pulling up the blankets for him. “Please.”

Clint smiled back, looking relieved, and set the candle down on the bedside table so that he could crawl in beside Bucky. Just the warmth of his body under the same blankets as Bucky was enough to lighten his heart considerably.

Clint leaned over to kiss him, nothing more than a goodnight kiss, then leaned back looking uncertain again. “Just to sleep,” he said. “That is, I don’t-” He broke off and Bucky reached for his hand, holding his fingers carefully in his.

“Whatever you want,” he said to him, speaking as carefully as he could, all too aware that there was only the candle to light his lips. “As much or as little as you want. You make the decisions, sweetheart.”

Clint smiled at him again, then leaned in and kissed him deeper, stroking his hand through Bucky’s hair.

“I’m so lucky to be married to you,” he said, then turned away to blow out the candle.

They settled down under the blankets and, after a moment of hesitation, Bucky felt out with his arm to rest over Clint’s waist. Clint let out a quiet sigh, shifted back further into his embrace and Bucky smiled to himself.

Now it didn’t matter if he slept or not, this was going to be an excellent night.

A few minutes passed, then there was the creak of the door again, running pawsteps, and the mattress dipped under the weight of a dog. Lucky shuffled around, then lay down at their feet, and Bucky couldn’t keep in a snort of amusement. He should have known sharing a bed with Clint would come with the addition of a dog.

Clint nudged a lazy elbow back at him. “Shut up, we both know you love him,” he said, already sounding half-asleep.

“I love you,” said Bucky, and didn’t get a response. He wondered if that was because Clint hadn’t heard or because he didn’t know what to say, and fell asleep still considering all the ways he could get Clint used to hearing those words.


	2. Chapter 2

Waking up with Clint in bed beside him was never going to get old. Bucky blinked his eyes open the next morning to see Clint half propped up against the pillows, petting Lucky. He was wearing a gentle smile and the sun had come up enough to shine through the window and glint off his hair, and the sight of him just took Bucky’s breath away, every time.

“Good morning,” he said, then cleared his throat and tried again when it came out sleep-rough.

Clint looked over and his smile broadened as if Bucky were something worth smiling at. “Good morning,” he returned, then gave Lucky a shove. “C’mon, get off me, mutt, I want to kiss my husband.”

Lucky jumped down from the bed while Bucky’s sleepy mind was still processing the easy way Clint had said that, and Clint leaned over to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Good morning,” he said, with a happy, carefree smile that Bucky had to lean up to taste, deepening the contact beyond Clint’s casual kiss.

Clint didn’t seem to mind if the way he pressed down into it was anything to go by, and Bucky couldn’t keep in a satisfied noise, deep in his throat, because Clint wasn’t just kissing him, he was kissing him as if he _meant it_ , as if there were nothing he wanted more.

Clint pulled back for a moment, staring at Bucky with dark eyes as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Bucky stared back, wondering what he should be saying to persuade Clint that this was alright, that he could keep going as far as he wanted.

It turned out the answer was nothing, because Clint pulled the covers up out the way and rolled over on top of Bucky, blanketing his body with his own, and leaned down to kiss him again.

“Is this alright?” he murmured against Bucky’s lips, but Bucky was too full of emotions to reply. He just curved his hand around the back of Clint’s head and pulled him down into another kiss.

Clint’s body was hard and heavy against his, large enough to completely cover him, and everything he’d wanted when he’d pictured this moment. He could feel the solid curves of Clint’s muscles, hardened from hours and hours of archery practice, and the calluses on his fingers as he trailed them down Bucky’s face to his neck. He felt secure in a way he hadn’t realised he’d craved with Clint over him, protecting him from the rest of the world.

Clint shifted to nestle one of his legs between Bucky’s. Bucky was all too aware of just how thin their nightgowns were and how hard he was right now as Clint moved against him. He felt breathless and filled up with sensations, and so scared that Clint would pull away again. He kept his hand gently on the back of Clint’s head, barely resting it there in case he needed to stop, but he hoped, god, he hoped so hard that Clint never pulled away.

It didn’t seem as if he would from the way he was kissing Bucky, hard and heavy, their mouths moving together as they shared breath and panted against each other’s lips. Clint’s hands were moving over Bucky’s body, carefully avoiding his left shoulder and missing arm in a way that just made Bucky’s heart swell even further with love for him.

When Clint eventually did pull away, Bucky couldn’t keep in a faint noise of protest that he hoped Clint’s ears hadn’t picked up. From the half-smirk he got, he was pretty sure they had.

“Is this alright with you?” Clint asked, as if Bucky weren’t panting under him, looking at him with what had to be a blitzed expression of pure want. He’d only been awake for a few minutes, after all, he wasn’t sure he was aware enough to process just how quickly this was happening. 

“More than,” said Bucky. “Don’t you know by now? Anything you want with me is more than fine, Clint. Whatever you want, I’ll give to you.”

Clint’s smirk grew into satisfaction and, fuck, he was entirely too inviting for Bucky to cope with. “Yeah, I’m getting that,” he said, and leaned in to kiss Bucky again. How could a man who had never kissed anyone only a few short weeks ago have already become so good at taking Bucky apart with just his lips? 

“You know, I like being this close to you,” Clint murmured. “I can hear every word you say. Every little noise…”

Clint’s hips shifted against Bucky’s, pressing his weight tighter against Bucky’s prick and revealing the hard shape of Clint’s own cock against his thigh, and Bucky let out a groan. He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting up into Clint’s body, feeling just how solid it was, how little he was able to move him. Oh god, he was going to burn up with desire at this rate.

“Clint,” he managed between kisses, running his hand up Clint’s back to his neck, then down to the broad shape of his shoulder blade. “Clint, are you-?” He hesitated as Clint pulled away to allow him to speak, not sure how to phrase this without scaring Clint away, which was the last thing he wanted. “I am enjoying this very much,” he said in the end, “but if you wish us just to kiss and embrace, you will need to shift your weight, or we will go rather further.”

Clint stared down at him and a flush of red tinged his cheeks in a way that Bucky was fascinated by. God, that he were Steve and able to paint such beauty.

“I am happy with that, if you are,” Clint said, tentatively, and Bucky felt his whole face crease into a smile.

“Of course I would be,” he said. “Clint, god. Clint.” He wasn’t really capable of anything more coherent, especially not as Clint chose that moment to shift his weight again, pressing down against Bucky as if testing out the reaction.

Bucky sucked in a breath and let himself thrust back up against him again, setting his hand on Clint’s lower back. “Oh god,” he said, helplessly. “Oh god, you feel so good.”

Clint leaned in and kissed him again, and Bucky could tell from the breathless passion of it that he was feeling just as much arousal as Bucky was right now.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” confessed Clint between kisses, still moving their bodies together. “Bucky, please, help me. I want this to be good for you.”

“You’re perfect for me,” said Bucky. “God, Clint, so perfect, just-” It wasn’t about whether it was good for Bucky, although he couldn’t imagine anything with Clint not being good. Bucky wanted this to be good for Clint too, he wanted it to be the best thing he’d ever felt, he wanted him to want to do it again and again, for the rest of their lives.

Bucky slid his hand further down, feeling the curve of Clint’s buttocks with a sense of wonder, then shifted him just slightly right, just so that they lined up perfectly, lengths pressed together with only their nightshirts between them. “Like this,” he said, and rolled his hips, moving Clint’s as he did so to guide him through the movement.

“Oh, fuck,” breathed Clint, staring at him with wide eyes. “Oh god, that feels so good. Bucky-” He cut himself off to lean down and kiss Bucky again, and Bucky lost some of his coordination in the rush of sensations from every part of him, his lips, his cock, his hand tracing over the shape of Clint’s body. It didn’t matter though, because Clint had caught the movement now and was pressing down into Bucky with hard, perfect movements, rolling their bodies together until Bucky had to shut his eyes to block out anything other than the feel of it.

“Oh god, Clint, Clint, just like that,” he said, “God, I love you, I love you so much, this is-” 

“Yeah,” breathed Clint against his ear, pressing a hasty kiss there. “Yeah, come on, Bucky, just like that. God, you feel so good.”

And that was all it took. Hearing that tone of arousal and lust in Clint’s voice as he said Bucky’s name, that was all it took for Bucky to press up against his body and come with a choked cry. God, that had been embarrassingly quick, but how was he meant to hold back when the man of his dreams was here with him, holding him down and kissing his neck, running his hands up Bucky’s sides even as Bucky was coming?

“Oh Jesus,” groaned Clint, and Bucky held on to him tighter, pushing his thigh up against Clint’s prick despite how much he wanted to just relax back into the blissful, sated sensation of having come. There was no sense to any of this if Clint didn’t get to feel as good as Bucky did.

Bucky was achingly aware that this was Clint’s first time doing anything like this with another person, and the fact that it was _Bucky_ he was doing it with meant he had to make sure that there was nothing he ever had to regret about this moment.

“Come on, Clint,” he said to him. “Sweetheart, you look so gorgeous.” He lifted his head to suck at Clint’s neck, teasing the skin over his pulse until Clint moaned, pushed down once, twice hard against Bucky’s body, then came with a garbled groan.

“Oh god,” he gasped, collapsing his full weight onto Bucky’s chest. Bucky wrapped his arm around him as tightly as he could, wishing more than anything that he had two to hold him with. God, Clint deserved a whole man so much, how was it fair that all he had was Bucky?

They just lay there for several minutes, pressed together so tightly that Bucky felt every breath Clint took. He stroked over his hair and down his back, letting the golden glow of affection and satisfaction fill him up. He’d shared an orgasm with Clint Barton. He could probably die happy now, or he could if he weren’t already itching to do it again, and to do more. Feeling Clint’s body over his like that was putting ideas in his head of being pushed down further into the mattress as Clint pressed inside him, taking Bucky and making him his as truly in body as he already was in soul.

“That was even better than Barney made it sound,” said Clint, after several minutes had passed and their breathing had settled down.

Bucky snorted a laugh. “I’m glad.”

Clint lifted his head and gave him a quiet, happy smile that Bucky wanted tattooed on his skin, and pressed a kiss to his lips. “I’ll stop squashing you now,” he said, and rolled to the side before Bucky could protest that there was nothing he wanted more than to be squashed by Clint.

“God,” said Clint, stretching his body with a lazy, unselfconscious movement that made Bucky’s mouth go dry and his prick start to consider if he could go again. “That was incredible.” He turned his head towards Bucky and gave him a shy half-smile. “Is that- do you think that counts as consummating the marriage?”

Bucky hadn’t bothered to consider the matter, because he’d never once really, truly believed that they’d take that step, not after he’d realised that the only way to marry Clint was to make it his father’s choice rather than his own.

“If you want it to,” he said. “We don’t need to prove anything to anyone, though. It’s just us here, doing whatever makes us happy.”

Clint nodded, tipping his head back to look up at the bed’s canopy. “That made me very happy,” he said, and started to snigger, apparently from sheer glee.

Bucky joined in, joy welling out of his chest with such strength that he was surprised he wasn’t glowing with it. He turned on his side so that he could reach out and take Clint’s hand, and Clint just let him, holding on in return as if it were as easy and as natural as anything else they had done.

“I love you,” said Bucky.

Clint smiled at him. “I know,” he said, and there wasn’t a hint of doubt or confusion in his voice. God, Bucky hoped he was managing to convince Clint that he wasn’t just worthy of being loved, it was exactly what he deserved.

They lay in silence for a few minutes, while Bucky took in the view of Clint’s happy, relaxed face, the sprawl of his body, and the way he’d just left his hand in Bucky’s without thinking about it. It felt like a dream.

“Do you think Coulson will know to bring my morning coffee in here when I’m not in my own bed?” asked Clint, eventually.

Bucky snorted with amusement. “Do you think your valet will suspect you might be in your husband’s room? After the noise we just made? I hope so, because I’m not sharing my coffee with you.”

Clint turned wide eyes at him. “Aw, what happened to ‘whatever you want, I’ll give it to you’?”

Bucky shrugged loosely, feeling the sated relaxation all through his muscles. “I think I’ve found the limit.”

Clint’s laugh made it clear that he knew, just as well as Bucky did, that that was rubbish. If Clint had truly asked him, Bucky would have given him not just his morning coffee, but his breakfast as well, and never mind that their activities had left him starving.

Luckily, Coulson did bring Clint’s coffee through to him, without comment other than a congratulatory half-smile that Bucky pretended not to see, and the matter wasn’t put to the test.

****

Lady Barton was waiting for them at the breakfast table. “Good morning, Lieutenant Barnes, Clint,” she said, then eyed Bucky’s riding clothes with a faint frown. “Are you not coming to church, Lieutenant?”

Bucky hadn’t even realised it was a Sunday. “I don’t go to church,” he said, shortly. She looked as if she wanted to press that, but his frown must have dissuaded her, because instead she turned to Clint.

“Of course you’ll accompany me,” she said.

Clint, who had talked about wanting to perfect a way of shooting an arrow in a curve around an object while they drank their morning coffee in bed together, looked caught. “Ah,” he said.

Her eyes narrowed. “Please tell me you have been going to church while you’ve been here,” she said. “Reverend Wilson seemed so kind, are you telling me you’re not part of his congregation?”

Bucky was torn between stepping in to protect Clint from his obvious panic at being confronted on the topic, and sitting back to watch his mother make him squirm like a small boy with mud on his best jacket.

“You know I don’t hear well enough for sermons,” said Clint cautiously. “There’s not a lot of point to me going.”

Her expression turned sad. “I should think the point would be to thank the Lord for the good things he has brought into your life,” she said. “That’s certainly what I’ll be doing.”

Her eyes flickered to Bucky in a very unsubtle manner that made Bucky feel uncomfortable, because as much as he wanted to be a good thing in Clint’s life, he wasn’t sure how he felt about God being thanked for his presence there.

Clint let out a sigh. “Of course I’ll come with you, mother,” he said, with very little enthusiasm.

Lady Barton smiled. “Thank you,” she said, then looked back at Bucky.

“I will be going riding,” he said, because no amount of motherly pressure was going to put him off from spending time with Alpine, especially not in favour of sitting in Wilson’s church and trying not to feel bitter about the idea of an all-powerful god who had left him in that cave with El Casco for a year.

****

It was a cold day, a sign that they were descending further into autumn and would soon be submerged in winter, and Bucky got rained on while on his way back from his ride. It was a freezing, biting kind of rain that earned Bucky a glare from Morita when he saw the state of Alpine.

“Couldn’t you take better care of him than getting him wet and freezing?” he asked, stroking over Alpine’s neck.

“I came back as fast as I could,” said Bucky shortly. The cold had soaked through his jacket and tightened the muscles of his shoulder, sending a deep ache through his stump, and he wasn’t in the mood for any banter with his servants.

“Maybe you should have looked at the weather and stayed closer to the house,” said Morita as Bucky swung himself off Alpine’s back.

“What I choose to do with my own horse is my concern and not yours,” snapped Bucky, and then regretted it when Morita just raised his eyebrows and led Alpine away to be rubbed down. They both knew that Bucky cared for Alpine enough that he was usually the first to coddle her, and that one of the things he valued about Morita was that he always put the horses first, and wasn’t afraid to speak up on their behalf.

The fact was that Bucky had got caught up with thinking about this morning with Clint, and then worrying about how to protect Lady Barton from the Baron, and had wandered further than he’d expected. He was cold and in pain, and felt guilty for causing Alpine discomfort, and he still didn’t know how he was going to keep his promise to Lady Barton and prevent the Baron taking her back.

It was all churning around in his gut, turning to sharp flashes of anger, and he either needed to calm himself before Clint and Lady Barton arrived back from church or find a reason to lock himself away until he was under control.

He made a mental note to apologise to Morita later, when he was more in control of himself, and headed inside, giving orders for a hot bath to be drawn for him.

****

Lying in a hot bath and slowly letting his muscles relax into it turned out to be exactly what Bucky had needed. The pain across his back and down his shoulder slowly melted away under it, and as the calm settled into his bones he was able to start thinking carefully through matters.

He may not have many friends, but those he did have were intelligent and resourceful enough that at least one of them should be able to suggest something, not to mention how dedicated they all were to preventing bullies like the Baron from being allowed to hurt those who could not protect themselves. None of them would allow Lady Barton to return to the Baron, no matter what the law might say about it. If they had to whisk her away to somewhere the Baron would never find her, either here or abroad, then they would do it. Bucky rather hoped it wouldn’t come to that, because he was not immune to how pleased Clint was to have his mother here, but it would still be better than letting her be taken home to her husband.

His bath had been set out in the centre of his bedroom, as usual, so that he could turn his head and watch the clouds crossing the sky outside. His dressing room had no windows and so he tended to keep it merely as a storage place, rather than spending time there.

Outside the window there was a small bird. It hopped along the window sill for a few inches, pecking at something, then gave up on it and took off, soaring up into the sky. Bucky watched it go, the sensation of freedom it inspired sinking under his skin until he was smiling to himself.

Clint had chosen to sleep with him rather than alone last night. This morning, he had chosen to do rather a lot more. Yesterday morning he had held Bucky in his arms and said such beautiful things that Bucky had ached from them. No matter what else might happen, no matter how his arm ached or his nightmares tried to get the better of him, those things would always be true. 

Moreover, all the signs pointed to such moments becoming the norm. Clint seemed happy to continue growing closer and closer to Bucky, such that Bucky found it startlingly easy to imagine another fifty years of this easy happiness between them.

He ran a washcloth over his chest and then across to his stump, washing over the scars without looking at them with practiced ease. Footsteps thumped into the room next door and Clint’s voice called for Lucky, and Bucky smiled again. His husband was home, which meant it was time to get out of the bath and dress, then go down for lunch where Clint would smile at him and call him ‘handsome’, and-

The door burst open and Clint strode through, “Bucky, have you seen Luck- Oh.”

Bucky reacted without thinking. He was completely exposed, chest and shoulders fully out of the bath and on display as Clint’s eyes darted over his body, over his _scars_ , oh god, his missing arm-

He stood up, water cascading off him and sloshing onto the carpet. He grabbed for the towel Falsworth had left on the rail for him and threw it over his left shoulder, covering the mess El Casco had left of his arm.

Clint made a strange, dry-throated noise.

It took a moment before the burst of panic faded enough for Bucky to realise that standing up to get the towel may have allowed him to hide his missing arm, but it had left the whole of the rest of his body on display. Clint’s eyes slowly descended over it, then darted back up to meet Bucky’s eyes, clearly trying not to look all the way down.

“Clint,” said Bucky, helplessly. Clint didn’t seem to have realised that he should have left the room as soon as he took in the situation. He didn’t even seem to have realised that it was a possibility.

“Uh, hey,” said Clint, breathlessly. “I-” He stopped and frowned, eyes darting to where Bucky had draped the towel, then back down to Bucky’s exposed crotch. “You realise that towel is large enough to wrap around your waist?” he said, then looked back up at Bucky’s face, which felt warm enough that he must have gone red. “You are that concerned about me seeing your injury?”

Bucky pulled the towel further over his body. “The damage is not pretty,” he said, letting go of the towel when he realised that it wasn’t going to stretch far enough to preserve his modesty without exposing his shoulder. Instead, he stepped from the bath, ignoring the water he was spilling on the floor, and turned to pick up the dressing gown on the bed. It gave Clint a view of his backside to go with the image he no doubt already had of Bucky’s front, but he wasn’t ashamed of that part of his body. In fact, he’d been told more than once that it was one of his best features.

He pulled the dressing gown on over his wet body, ignoring the way it immediately became damp. It was silk and would no doubt be damaged by it in a way that would make Falsworth mutter curses at him, but it was better than continuing to stand naked in front of Clint.

Clint let out a breathless half-laugh. “Bucky, there is nothing about you that isn’t pretty. And I think I am in a very good position to judge that right now, handsome.”

Bucky turned back around to him as soon as the dressing gown was secured. Clint was still standing in the doorway, looking as if his feet were rooted to the spot. His eyes dipped down to Bucky’s neck and the small patch of his collarbones that the dressing gown didn’t cover.

“You don’t need to say such things,” he said, feeling horribly tired, because if Clint thought he had to flatter Bucky, that meant he still wasn’t secure in his position, and what else might he have only done because he thought he needed to keep Bucky happy? “I know what I look like. Once, perhaps, I was considered good-looking, but that was before-”

“No,” interrupted Clint and he finally moved, stepping forward towards Bucky. “You’re good-looking now. Astonishingly so, you take my breath away. I have no idea what you looked like before, but this version of you, the one I am happy to be married to, is the most handsome man I have ever seen. Your injury has no impact on that.” He paused a moment, and then stepped forward again, reaching out to set his hand on Bucky’s left shoulder. “I told you before, you needn’t ever worry about this affecting my opinion of you,” he said. “That includes my opinion of your looks.”

He stroked his hand down Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky had to hold in the urge to step away. The last thing he ever wanted was to discourage Clint’s touch.

“You don’t need to pretend,” he said.

“I’m not,” said Clint. “Look, this is…” He tapped his ears with the hand that wasn’t still resting on Bucky. “My hearing doesn’t seem to have any bearing on your feelings towards me,” he said, carefully.

“No,” agreed Bucky at once. “Of course not. Only on my feelings towards your father.”

Clint managed a smile. “I found that hard to understand at first,” he said. “My father made it clear that the damage rendered me useless, and nobody went particularly far to give me any other impression, not until I came here and you treated it so easily, putting in aid for me where you could, and just allowing me to be the rest of the time.”

“There’s nothing useless about you,” said Bucky, feeling himself relax at the change of topic, because he could pay Clint compliments all day, even if Clint kept his hand so close to his stump for it. 

Clint found a smile. “I’m an unemployed member of the nobility,” he said. “I spend my life shooting arrows at targets and relaxing in unearned wealth. There’s very little that is _useful_ about me. That’s not my point, however. My point is that you find it so easy to view my injury as just another facet of who I am, so why don’t you allow yourself the same?”

Bucky felt as if his insides were all clenching together. “Clint,” he said helplessly, because he didn’t know how to answer that.

“You said it’s not pretty,” said Clint, taking a small step closer, as if aware that Bucky was powerless to move now, too caught up in the sincere look in Clint’s eyes and the steady quality of his voice as he said such astounding things. “But I think you’re not in the right place to judge. As your husband, as the man who-” he hesitated on the next word, then continued with, “cares about you, I think I am far better placed to judge. Let me tell you what I saw when I came in here. I saw the most beautiful man I have ever seen, or that I could ever imagine, lying back with such a lovely, relaxed look on his face that it nearly took my breath away. I saw a strong man, who has weathered so much and yet is still able to be so kind and generous as to rescue a woman from her husband in defiance of all law and convention, to let a one-eyed dog sleep on the end of his bed without comment, to give me a life I could barely have dreamed of. I saw your injury-”

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from making a noise of protest at that, for all that he knew that there had been ample time between Clint coming in and Bucky covering himself with the towel for him to have looked his fill.

Clint just clung to his shoulder a little tighter and continued. “I saw your injury and nothing about it upset me or repelled me or whatever it is you fear. All I saw was you, Bucky. My husband. The best man I know, and the only one I want to be married to.”

Bucky had no idea what to say to that, even if he had had a chance to speak before Clint leaned in closer and kissed him, as softly as Bucky had wanted to kiss him when he’d seen the fear on his face on their wedding night.

“God, Bucky, you’re so gorgeous,” said Clint, lips close enough to Bucky’s for him to feel his breath. “How can you think that seeing you like that, wet and naked, would prompt anything other than lustful thoughts? How is it that we did those things only this morning, and yet I already want more?”

Bucky did have an answer for that, because he was never going to allow an opening like that to pass him by, not when he could be giving Clint exactly what he wanted. He wrapped his arm around Clint’s shoulders and pulled him back down into a kiss, turning this one hotter and heavier, moving closer to press their bodies together. His dressing gown was damp while Clint was in his church clothes, but that didn’t seem like a good reason to stop, not when he could be clinging on to Clint and pressing inside his mouth, tasting the tongue that had said such beautiful things to him.

Clint kept hold of Bucky’s shoulder while his other arm wrapped around him, holding on just as tightly. Bucky stroked his hand down his back, over his jacket, and then ran it around his hip to press his thumb against the crease between his body and his inner thigh. “Let me make you feel good again,” he said. “We have time before lunch, surely? Your mother will-”

Clint let out a huff of laughter. “Reverend Wilson introduced my mother to two local ladies, Mrs Parker and Lady van Dyne, who invited her for lunch,” he said. “She won’t be back for a good couple of hours.”

“Oh, perfect,” said Bucky, too swept up in emotions to do more than note to himself that both those ladies were well known for their independence and disinterest in letting a spouse tie them down. Wilson must have known exactly what he was doing to introduce Lady Barton to them. “Then let me make you feel good.”

He moved his hand to rest over the hard length of Clint’s prick, pressing down on it just enough to make him gasp.

“If you would allow it, I would very much like to bring you pleasure with my mouth,” he said, and that made Clint groan so loudly that he grinned at his accomplishment and started to drop to his knees to follow through.

“No,” said Clint, catching his elbow and Bucky immediately straightened his knees, letting go of Clint and starting to step away, because if Clint said no then-

“No, not that either,” said Clint, exasperatedly, pulling Bucky back in so he could kiss him. “I very much want this now, but-” He hesitated and Bucky braced himself, because that tentative look on Clint’s face didn’t bode well. “I want to be naked,” said Clint. “I want to see you naked, and to bring you pleasure. I want the chance to be closer to that handsome man I saw in the bath a moment ago.”

Bucky stopped still. He imagined being wholly naked in front of Clint, letting him look his fill not just at his missing arm, but also all the many scars that war and torture had left his body littered with. “I can put on a shirt,” he said. “Leave the buttons open and the only parts covered would be…” _The parts I don’t want you to see._

Clint shook his head. “No,” he said. “Or, well. Whatever you need, of course, if you don’t want to let me see, then we will do that but, Bucky, I meant it earlier. You’re beautiful, and I want to see all of you. Please don’t keep hiding.”

Bucky didn’t know what to do. His desperate need to keep Clint from seeing his damage warred with his instinctive need to just give Clint anything and everything he asked for, especially when he looked at him with those pleading eyes.

If he didn’t do this now, then when? It seemed that Clint was keen for them to continue with this aspect of their relationship, and Bucky wanted nothing more than to explore every possible way of bringing Clint pleasure. Was he going to keep himself covered up for the rest of their lives?

No. He couldn’t let his fears spoil what he and Clint were building between themselves.

He took a deep breath, then undid the cord on his dressing gown with a shaking hand, braced himself, and pushed it off to pool on the ground at his feet.

“Bucky,” breathed Clint, and the look on his face alone was worth it. He looked as if he were staring at the face of God rather than the body of a damaged soldier. He gathered Bucky back into his arms and kissed him, and the strange juxtaposition of Bucky’s naked body with Clint’s fully-clothed one somehow pushed Bucky’s arousal higher.

“You are so beautiful,” said Clint, holding Bucky close and looking deep into his eyes before kissing him again.

Bucky just shut his eyes and clung to him, the jittering anxiety of exposing himself like this mixing up with his growing lust until he couldn’t tell which was responsible for the squirming in his stomach.

He became aware that Clint was slowly walking him backwards to the bed, over the damp patch on the carpet from the bath and he pulled away to hold him still. “You said you would be naked too,” he said. He wasn’t quite able to phrase it as a request, for all that he was burning up just at the idea of it.

Clint smiled at him. “I did,” he agreed. “I suppose I should follow through, as you did.”

He pushed Bucky back until the end of the bed was against his knees. “I have rather more clothes to remove than you did,” he said, “and no valet to help. Will you sit there and wait for a moment, and provide me with something lovely to look at while I do so?”

Bucky couldn’t hold in a snort at the idea of him being lovely, but obligingly settled back on the bed, because he wanted Clint to remove his clothes more than anything.

Clint’s eyes raked over him and Bucky felt horribly self-conscious, skin tingling with the weight of Clint’s gaze. He wanted to twitch back and hide his left side somehow, but he forced himself to sit still and in place, ready for the treat of watching Clint undress.

Cint smiled at him. “Perfect,” he said, taking a step back and starting to take off his jacket. “God, the way you look at me,” he added as he draped it over a chair. “Do you have any idea how your eyes look when you’re watching me like this? I could get lost in them.”

He was working on his cravat now, uncoiling it from around his neck and Bucky felt himself itching to help, although he would likely only get in the way with only one hand to fumble it off with. As Clint’s neck was slowly revealed, he wanted to press kisses to the length of it.

Instead, he held still, resting his hand on the bed behind him to avoid the temptation to try and hide some of his body with it. Clint had asked him to sit here, after all, and that was exactly what Bucky was going to do, because he wasn’t risking an end to this moment, not when it seemed as if it were going to go places he had dreamed of for so long.

Clint set the cravat to one side and started undoing his waistcoat. “Do you remember our first morning here?” he asked. “You came to breakfast in riding clothes.”

“I always come to breakfast in riding clothes,” Bucky pointed out, but he knew the outfit Clint was referring to because he’d spent a long time with his tailor getting the breeches right once he realised that, if he wanted to attract his husband’s gaze, he was going to have to focus on the lower parts of his body to distract from his left shoulder.

“Yes,” agreed Clint dreamily. “It’s one of my favourite parts of the day. And not just because of the coffee. That first morning, you walked from the room and I thought I would swallow my own tongue.” He shrugged off his waistcoat and laid it over the rest of his clothes, then untucked his shirt from his breeches.

“I have been told that view of me is particularly fine,” allowed Bucky, and Clint grinned at him.

“Oh yes,” he agreed. “And now I’ve been given the opportunity to see it without clothing, I’m not sure how I will be able to breakfast without pausing proceedings to thoroughly enjoy it.”

Bucky felt warmth blush his cheeks but fought to keep his expression from giving away too much. He didn’t want Clint to know how easy it was to flatter him into losing all rationality. “Your mother eats with us now,” he reminded him.

Clint laughed. “True,” he said. He’d been working up his shirt, undoing buttons to reveal the strong lines of his chest and Bucky was having to clench his hand to keep himself from moving. 

He must have spent hundreds of hours over the last few years imagining what the body of the beautiful archer he’d seen would look like, picturing it in all kinds of ways, lean and lithe like the elf-prince he had taken him for at first, or thick with muscle from drawing the heavy bow he’d been holding, and all stages in between. How was it that the reality should be so much more perfect than any of his imaginings? Strong and muscled, yes, but with Clint’s height he still managed to look lithe, as if he could manage any feat of acrobatics that might be asked of him. Bucky thought about some of his more flexible archery tricks and realised that he probably could.

Bucky took a breath in, swallowing around the dryness in his throat. He was meant to be the more experienced one, after all, it wouldn’t do for him to lose his composure just from the sight of Clint’s chest.

But, God, it was a beautiful sight.

Clint hesitated once all the buttons of his shirt were undone and Bucky realised that up until that moment he hadn’t shown a trace of self-consciousness or inexperience. He had been proceeding with all the confidence he usually reserved for being at the range, and it was only pushing Bucky’s arousal higher. As naked as he was, how he felt about this was very obvious, his prick standing hard and proud between his legs.

“Please,” he said, softly. “Let me see.” He wasn’t sure if his voice was loud enough for Clint to hear, but he didn’t want to disturb the hushed atmosphere of the room, so he added, “Please,” in sign language and hoped it would be enough.

Clint fixed his eyes on Bucky’s face and shrugged his shirt off. Bucky almost felt dizzy from it, from seeing Clint’s naked shoulders and arms highlighted in the daylight coming through the windows, the way the lines of his stomach muscles traced down to his hips, the scattering of freckles that Bucky was not prepared for.

“Clint,” he breathed, then looked up to meet the worried look in Clint’s eyes, as if he had anything to be concerned over. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen, sweetheart. May I touch you?”

He started to get up, intent on getting his hand on Clint’s skin, but Clint shook his head. “No,” he said. “I said I wanted to enjoy the sight of you,” he reminded him. 

Bucky paused, then sat back down, because no matter how much his fingers were itching to trace over every inch of Clint’s body, if Clint wanted him to stay sat as he was, he’d stay there for hours.

Clint granted him a smile in return and it looked far less uncertain than he had been. Bucky realised that Clint was finding navigating this new situation a lot easier when he was in charge and when he knew Bucky was following his orders. That would work rather well, as there was nothing Bucky wanted more than to be told exactly what Clint wanted, so that he could make sure he got it.

“Thank you,” said Clint, signing at the same time. “I am- I suppose it is no surprise that I have not done this before. The only people who have seen me naked before have been servants.”

“You have nothing to be concerned about,” said Bucky. “I have seen many men naked, from being in the Army,” and at other times, but Bucky wasn’t going to be so crass as to mention previous lovers now, “and you are by far the most beautiful I have seen.”

Clint laughed. “How can that be when you have seen yourself in the mirror?” he said in a teasing tone. “Do you think we will always be arguing over who is the best-looking?”

Bucky shook his head. “You are the clear winner, and you will never change my mind,” he said then added, more hesitantly, “But I don’t think it’s something there is any one right answer on. We may have different opinions and both be right.”

Clint nodded. He was resting his hands on the waistband of his breeches, and Bucky could feel a creeping anticipation rising that he might soon decide to remove them. “That seems fair,” he said. “Because I have been looking at you for several minutes now, and you still take my breath away. I want to touch you, Bucky.”

“You may do anything you wish to me,” said Bucky immediately, without hesitation, because as much as he felt Clint deserved more than Bucky’s damaged body, he wouldn’t ever deny him anything.

“I want-” said Clint, then broke off, and nervousness crossed his face again. “Just- Wait a moment.”

He took a deep breath and Bucky obligingly kept his mouth shut, just watching as Clint kicked off his shoes in a way that would have made both their valets tut about damage to the leather. He propped first one leg, then the other, up on the chair to peel off his stockings, revealing the elegant curve of his calves. His hands returned to the placket of his breeches and he hesitated again.

Bucky wanted to provide him with reassurances but he wasn’t sure Clint wanted to hear them. Instead, he locked gazes with Clint and tried out a smile, letting the happiness he was feeling right now shine through. Even if they didn’t go any further than this, it was still more than he’d had before, more than yesterday, more than last year, more than that first time he’d seen Clint, so many years ago now. As long as Clint was content to make a proper try of this marriage, Bucky felt that he couldn’t possibly ask for more.

Clint’s eyes darted over Bucky’s body for a moment, lingering rather obviously on his erection, then he undid his breeches with hurried, rushed movements, as if trying to get past the moment as soon as possible. He removed his underwear along with them, dropping them to the floor in stark contrast to the neat pile of clothes on the chair, then stepped forward while Bucky was still taking in the glorious sight of his naked husband. His thighs were long and muscled, but it wasn’t them his eyes got caught on, not when his prick was jutting up with arousal that showed he was finding this interlude just as exciting as Bucky was. It was long and thick, and everything Bucky wanted to feel in his hand, in his mouth, inside his body.

Clint ran his hands through Bucky’s hair, tilting his head up to lean down and kiss him.

“God, I’ll never get over that look on your face,” he muttered against Bucky’s lips. “I can’t believe you just sat here like I asked and let me look like that, when you reacted as you did before.”

“Don’t you know by now?” asked Bucky, letting himself rest his hand lightly on Clint’s waist, for all that he wanted to touch and feel so much more of him. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Clint. I love you.”

Clint’s smile turned warmer. “You’re the best husband I could imagine,” he said, then kissed Bucky again, both his hands cradling his face before he stroked them down to his shoulders. Bucky twitched as his fingers trailed over the remains of his left arm, but he was too distracted by Clint’s mouth to react more than that. It was clear from the way Clint was pushing closer that he wasn’t put off by it, at any rate.

“What do you want?” Bucky asked, once they had paused for a breath. “The same as this morning, but without our night clothes in between us? Or I really would like to taste you, or even just hold you in my hand and make you happy like that.” He trailed his hand around Clint’s hip, allowing himself to grow bolder in the absence of any sign of Clint drawing away. He finally got his hand on Clint’s prick, running his fingers along its length and then taking it in a gentle grip. “Whatever you want.”

Clint was letting out hard, heavy breaths and staring at Bucky with dark eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t...Bucky.” He pulled away, straightening up and Bucky immediately pulled his hand away, putting it on the bed behind him.

Clint stared down at him for a moment, then took a deep breath. “I have no experience,” he said. “I don’t know which of those I want. I hope we’ll try all of them, at some time, but I don’t know which I want to start with, only that I want to be close to you, and to make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

Bucky nodded, then pushed himself backwards up the bed, until he was able to sprawl out on it with his legs splayed and hold a hand out in invitation to Clint. “Come here and lie with me,” he said. “We’ll start as we did this morning, and see where it leads us.”

Clint was quick to move, crawling onto the bed with a lack of self consciousness that was perhaps the most arousing thing Bucky had ever seen. He settled in the valley of Bucky’s open legs, his weight pressing down against Bucky’s erection as he leaned in to kiss him, and for a moment Bucky thought he would come off just like that.

“Bucky,” Clint murmured against his lips, and kept kissing him, hands stroking over Bucky’s skin while Bucky finally let himself do the same to him, feeling the smooth warmth of his back, and the way his muscles shifted beneath his skin and even the curve of his buttocks. There was nothing about him that wasn’t molded with all the beauty of an ancient statue, as if God had designed him solely to put Michelangelo to shame.

Both of them were panting with the sensations being stoked between them, and Bucky was happily assuming that they would just move together as they had that morning until they came when Clint pulled back.

“You have done all those things before, with other men,” he said, hesitantly, “and I…” a moment of insecurity crossed his face, and Bucky smoothed his hand over his back again, as if he could wipe it away that easily. Clint took a breath and continued. “I should imagine you have thought about doing such things with me, if what you said about wanting me for all those years is true.”

Bucky thought about protesting that his thoughts had been mostly pure, but Clint was a young man too, and he knew how hard it was to keep such thoughts from taking over in the dark hours of the night.

“Perhaps,” he said instead. “Once or twice.”

Clint’s snort made it clear he knew how much Bucky was downplaying the many hours he had spent imagining all that he and Clint could do together. “What was your favourite thought?” he asked. “What have you wanted from me the most?”

Bucky hesitated, not sure how much truth he should let out, and Clint set a hand to curve around his face, gently stroking over his cheek. “I just want to know,” he said. “There is something, I know. I’m not saying that we’ll do it if you tell me, but I want to know. I want to make you as happy as you make me, Bucky.”

“Just having you here is enough for that,” said Bucky, resting his hand on the small of Clint’s back and feeling the way it dimpled just above the curve of his arse. Clint kept looking at him expectantly, and Bucky took a deep breath and let the words slip out. “I want you inside me,” he said, trying to resist letting his voice dip in volume so that he wouldn’t have to repeat himself. “The thing I want most is to take your prick inside my body and let you take all the pleasure you want from me.” Clint’s eyes widened with surprise and Bucky hurried to reassure him, “But that’s not something we need to do now, or ever, if you’d rather-”

“No,” said Clint, in a hoarse voice. “Bucky.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I just thought it would be the opposite.”

Bucky allowed himself a laugh. “I’m not saying I wouldn’t also enjoy the opposite,” he said. “I can’t imagine much we could do together that I wouldn’t love every moment of, but you asked for the thing I want most and, well. That is it.”

Clint nodded, and leaned back in to kiss him, and Bucky gave himself over to the feel of his mouth, and hoped that meant he hadn’t scared him. Clint moved away to kiss along Bucky’s jaw and down his neck, and Bucky felt himself arching up into the sensations.

“This is good too,” he said, between gasps of pleasure. “Clint, you are- anything you do to me is perfect.”

Clint moved along his collarbone and it took Bucky longer than he’d admit to to realise just how close he was to Bucky’s injury, and the scars that were scattered around it. Clint didn’t pause though, he kept kissing along Bucky’s skin right to the bottom of his stump, then lifted his head. “You’re the best man I know,” he said. “I want to make you happy, but you will need to talk me through what to do.”

“Clint,” breathed Bucky, barely able to believe his luck. “You really want to do this?”

Clint laughed. “Of course I do,” he said. “I’d be lying if I said I’d never considered it myself, I just didn’t think you would want it, or at least not yet.” His hand traced over Bucky’s hip, around the curve of his thigh. “If we both want it, there’s no sense in waiting.”

“No,” agreed Bucky, and he sounded dazed even to himself. It didn’t help that Clint’s hand was now gently tracing over his erection, apparently just exploring. “Then we will need oil,” he said, and started to sit up, pulling away from Clint.

Clint knelt up, allowing him the freedom to reach over for the drawer in his nightstand and the bottle he had secreted there before their wedding, unable to stifle hope while telling himself that he was an idiot for thinking Clint would ever want to use it with him.

Apparently he had been wrong, because Clint took it from him with interest, then looked back down at Bucky. 

“You need to cover your fingers and then open me up for you,” said Bucky, spreading his legs further to make his meaning obvious.

Clint flushed red and Bucky immediately reached for the bottle. “Or I can do it for you, if you would-”

“No,” said Clint, clinging to it. “No, I want to do this.” He hesitated, and then added, “It will feel good for you? I don’t want this if it won’t bring us both pleasure.”

Bucky couldn’t hold in a laugh. “It will feel very good for me,” he assured him. “Trust me that that will not be a problem.”

Clint smiled at him, and Bucky let his eyes sweep down the long length of his body, taking in the beauty of it again, because he still couldn’t quite believe that they were here together like this.

Clint stroked his hand over Bucky’s thigh, then opened the bottle and poured some of the oil on his fingers. Bucky couldn’t stop himself from sucking in a breath with anticipation, because this was everything he had wanted for so long now, and he was finally getting it.

Clint ran his hand over Bucky’s leg and Bucky spread them even further, shifting his hips to give him access. Clint ran a finger along the length of the cleft of Bucky’s arse, then paused against his hole, pressing gently against it. Too gently to be anything other than a tease, making Bucky hold his breath in anticipation as Clint stared down at him.

“Please,” said Bucky when Clint didn’t move to press inside him properly. “Clint, please. I want this so much.”

The reassurance was apparently enough, because Clint did press harder, slipping his finger inside while Bucky let his eyes shut and groaned, pushing back into it. “God, yes, please,” he muttered.

That this was actually happening was almost more than he could cope with, especially when he opened his eyes again and caught the look on Clint’s face, wide-eyed and astonished, and almost as lust-filled as Bucky felt right now.

“What do I do next?” he asked.

“Just, more,” said Bucky. “Please. Keep pressing inside me, you need to loosen me up enough for another finger. And a third,” he added, glancing down at the size of Clint’s cock. God, that was going to feel so good inside of him.

“God, Bucky,” said Clint, moving his finger in a way that made Bucky moan again. “You feel so good.”

“Going to feel even better around your prick,” said Bucky, clenching down to give Clint an idea of that. He could already feel arousal tingling across his skin, sweat beading on his forehead just from how good this felt, and the anticipation of having Clint inside him properly.

“Fuck,” muttered Clint, moving closer in and taking hold of Bucky’s leg to move it up and out of the way. “God, Bucky, I can’t believe you want this.”

Bucky just laughed breathlessly, because he wanted it _so much_. “I’m ready for more,” he said, and Clint didn’t hesitate this time, pressing inside him with two fingers while Bucky choked out a groan and clung to the bedsheets with his hand. He realised belatedly that they hadn’t moved aside the expensive silk covers, and they would almost certainly be ruined by this, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that just now, not when he could see Clint biting at his lower lip with concentration, before bending his head to press a kiss to the inside of Bucky’s thigh.

“God, Handsome, you look so good,” he said, sounding just as affected as Bucky was. “Bucky, how can you possibly think you’re anything other than beautiful? I want to see you like this as often as possible.”

“Every day, if you wish it,” said Bucky, managing a smirk and then losing it when Clint moved his fingers just _so_ , “Oh yes, there, please sweetheart, please just there.”

Clint did it again and Bucky lost himself for a few moments in the sensation, taking nothing in except the feeling of Clint’s fingers inside him and the movement of his lips against Bucky’s thigh. When he opened his eyes, not really realising he’d closed them, Clint was grinning down at him in a way that made Bucky want to tear out his heart and offer it to him whole.

“You do seem to be enjoying it,” he said, smirking.

“I did say I would,” said Bucky, in between breaths. 

Clint shifted forward so that he could kiss his mouth, plunging his tongue inside while Bucky tried to catch his breath despite the way Clint’s fingers were still moving and the way his body felt pressed up against Bucky’s. God, this was exactly what he’d wanted.

“That’s enough,” he said, clutching at Clint’s shoulder. “I’m ready for you now.”

Clint just grinned down at him. “You said three fingers,” he reminded him.

Bucky shook his head, because as much as he’d probably been right about that, he didn’t want to wait any longer. “I’m fine,” he said. “Please, sweetheart.”

Clint shook his head. “Just a bit longer, handsome,” he said, pulling his fingers free and then pressing back inside with three instead.

Bucky couldn’t keep in a cry, arching his back so that he was pressed up against Clint, feeling the way he covered him. “God damn you,” he managed, but his tone was desperate rather than angry and he knew Clint could hear it.

Clint was unfairly good at this for a man who had never been intimate with anyone before that morning. His fingers were stretching Bucky just right, pressing into him in a way that made him worry he would come off before he could feel Clint’s cock inside him. Clint had moved his mouth to Bucky’s chest, pressing soft kisses over his skin in a way that made him feel uncomfortably precious, and then Clint found one of his nipples with his lips and Bucky’s resulting gasp made him pause. 

“Does that feel good?” he asked, but didn’t wait for an answer before kissing it again, then running his tongue over it.

“So good,” gasped Bucky. “God, Clint.”

It felt like he was hanging on by his fingertips, as if pleasure were about to crash down on him like a heavy wave, sweeping him so far away he’d never make it back.

“Please,” he said, “please, sweetheart, now. I need you now.”

Clint pulled back to look down at him. “Are you sure?” he asked, and twitched his fingers inside Bucky again. “I wouldn’t want to get this wrong.”

Bucky tried to glare at him but he could tell he was feeling too many other things to really make it work. “Do you intend to tease me all day?”

Clint laughed and shrugged. “I don’t know, it sounds rather a fun way to pass a few hours,” he said, but he was relenting, pulling his fingers away and shifting back. He glanced down at Bucky uncertainly, clearly considering logistics. “How do we do this?”

Bucky was well aware that, with only one arm, the easiest thing would probably be for him to be on top of Clint, but he wasn’t willing to give up the feeling of having Clint over him, surrounding him with his body.

“We will need the pillows,” he said, sitting up to reach for them with a shaking hand because, good Lord, he was already so turned on that he could barely command his limbs. “And perhaps the towel.”

Clint turned to see where it had ended up, then leaned back to grab it from the edge of the bath, stretching his torso in a way that Bucky had to pause to enjoy before he piled the pillows under his hips, arranging himself so that it would be easy for Clint. He was suddenly very aware that this was Clint’s first time and just how much he wanted it to be good for him. Not just to make sure he wanted to do it again, and often, but because Clint deserved to have something good, something that most other men his age had already experienced.

Clint turned back while Bucky was staring at him, and flushed pink. “You’re doing it again,” he said. “Looking at me like that.”

“You’re well worth looking at. Maybe the only thing I ever want to look at,” said Bucky, and perhaps he was being a little too intense, but he had so many feelings building up under his skin that he couldn’t keep them all in.

He directed Clint to place the towel where it might go some way to protect the covers, then settled further in against the pillows, holding his hand out to invite Clint closer. “Come on,” he said, when Clint hesitated. “I want to feel you.”

Clint moved to cover his body, pressing their chests together as he kissed Bucky again, softer and sweeter than Bucky had expected. “I want to feel you, too,” he said. “God, Bucky, you think I’m worth looking at? You’re all laid out for me, your body, your chest, your _thighs_ , God.”

He leaned in to kiss Bucky again, harder and heavier, and Bucky opened himself up to him, trying to convey just how desperate he was for more. He fumbled for the oil, gripping it for a moment as Clint’s mouth made him lose his thoughts for a moment, then pushed it against Clint’s chest. “You need to cover yourself.”

He desperately wanted to do it for Clint and get to feel his cock in his hand again before it was inside him, but he was all too aware that the logistics of opening the bottle and doing so one-handed were beyond him when he was filled with this much lust.

“Yes,” said Clint, taking the bottle and sitting back to do as Bucky had asked and, god, the sight of him, slicking a hand over himself as his eyes shut and he let out a gasp of pleasure, was almost enough for Bucky to come just from watching.

He reached for Clint, pulling him back down against his body.

“Please,” he muttered, probably too quiet for Clint to hear but he couldn’t sign with Clint pressed against him like that, while he gripped at Clint’s shoulder and lifted his hips in what he hoped was an obvious hint. “Please, sweetheart, now.”

Clint let out a long breath, then rested his forehead on Bucky’s shoulder as he reached down to hold his hip. Bucky spread his legs wide, wrapping them around Clint’s waist, and then Clint was finally pressing inside him with his cock, moving slowly but steady enough that it felt like Bucky was going to explode from how good it felt being stretched open around him.

“Oh god,” he said, and he could hear his voice wavering. “Clint, Clint, please. Just like that.”

“God, Bucky,” said Clint, and couldn’t manage much more, if the way his voice gave out was anything to go by. He pressed all the way inside him then paused, giving Bucky the beat of two breaths to adjust, although Bucky had a feeling the pause was more for his own sake than Bucky’s. He could feel Clint‘s prick twitching inside him, hard and solid and everything Bucky had ever dreamed of.

“Please,” he breathed, and Clint moved, pulling out and then pressing back inside, both of them groaning at the sensations.

“Oh god, Bucky, it’s so good,” said Clint. “I didn’t- I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” said Bucky, stroking his hand over Clint’s shoulder. “You definitely can. Come on, I want it, god, I want it so much.”

Clint let out a groan, and then started thrusting into Bucky for real, hard and steady, punching the air from his lungs as Bucky clung on and did his best to meet his movements with his hips. 

It was like nothing he’d ever felt before; it was everything. Clint had pressed his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder, his whole body curled over him and holding him down as he moved in him, hitting exactly the right spot every time, apparently more by chance than design, although once he’d felt how Bucky shook underneath him he started aiming for it specifically. Soon Bucky was incapable of anything other than just taking it, groaning with every move Clint made and doing his best not to start babbling; there was no way he’d be able to control his tongue just now.

“Bucky,” said Clint, and he sounded almost as desperate as Bucky felt. “Oh god, so good, you’re so good, just like that, yeah. God, you’re perfect.”

On top of the way Clint’s prick felt, filling Bucky up in all the right ways, the tone of Clint’s voice, needy and just as affected as Bucky felt, was enough to pitch him over the edge. He pushed his hand in between their bodies and took a firm grip on his cock, but he had barely pulled on it once before he was coming, choking out Clint’s name and shuddering with pleasure.

“Oh god,” said Clint as Bucky clenched around him in orgasm, and his thrusts sped up, rough with need, “Bucky, Bucky, you felt so good, I don’t-” He leaned in and pressed a breathless, clumsy kiss to Bucky’s mouth. “Do you need me to stop?” he asked, and despite the desperation in his voice Bucky knew he’d stop the instant Bucky said it.

“No,” he said, “please, keep going, sweetheart. I want to feel you inside me.” He wrapped his arm around Clint’s waist, holding on, and gave himself over completely to how it felt to have Clint inside him, taking his pleasure, while Bucky’s own body was still weak and over-sensitised. Oh god, he’d never felt anything like it, all his fantasies about having this with Clint had done nothing to prepare him for being held in Clint’s arms and taken apart like this.

“I love you,” he said, because he hadn’t bothered keeping the words in before, and didn’t see that he needed to now. “Clint, god, I love you so much, you feel so good in me.”

Clint let out a strangled cry, pumping his hips hard into Bucky, and came inside him, his whole body convulsing with it.

He collapsed on top of Bucky a moment later, clearly worn out, and Bucky ran a hand over his back, feeling the sweat clinging to him, and grinned up at the ceiling. Clint was heavy enough to make breathing a struggle, Bucky’s leg was cramping up from being wrapped around his waist, he was sticky and could feel Clint’s spend inside him, and he had never felt better.

“I love you,” he said again, when a couple of quiet moments had passed, and kissed Clint’s temple. “Thank you.”

Clint snorted and raised his head. “I feel I should be thanking you,” he said.

Bucky just shrugged. “You gave me everything I wanted,” he said, unable to keep any of his feelings inside. “I can’t believe you hadn’t done that before, you were everything I have ever dreamed of.”

Clint dropped his head back down to Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky ran his hand over his sweaty, disheveled hair.

“You say such things to me,” said Clint, quietly, and then paused. Bucky felt him let out a long breath, then he pulled away, kneeling back and carefully pulling out of Bucky. Bucky couldn’t keep in a wince at the sensation that he hoped wouldn’t be taken the wrong way; he may have ached but it was in the best possible way, and he didn’t want Clint worrying about having hurt him. Happily, Clint was too concerned with using the towel to try and clean them both off to notice.

Once he had done the best he could, Clint threw the towel towards the bath, then collapsed back down beside Bucky, letting out a deep breath. Bucky turned onto his side, moving the pillows away from underneath him so he was more comfortable, and took a moment just to take in the sight of Clint Barton, naked and sweaty and completely sated, lying in his bed with a happy little smile.

Perhaps he had died in El Casco’s dungeon, or was still trapped there and hallucinating, because there was no way this was his real life. Unless there was a cosmic balance of some kind, and this perfect moment was here to outweigh the bad things he had lived through. 

Clint turned his head towards Bucky and his smile widened. “Now we have definitely consummated the marriage.”

Bucky laughed. “There is no one who could argue otherwise,” he agreed, and reached out to take Clint’s hand. “My husband.”

Clint smiled back. “My husband,” he repeated, then his smile faded into something more intense. “Bucky, you should know how much I care for you. I meant it when I said I couldn’t imagine being married to anyone else, you’ve been so kind and patient.” He hesitated and then pulled his hand away from Bucky in order to sign a phrase Bucky hadn’t seen before. “I love you.”

Bucky felt himself freeze “Clint,” he breathed, feeling his eyes go wide. “You don’t- Please don’t say it unless you mean it.” It seemed far more likely that Clint would be speaking in a flood of post-coital enthusiasm or obligation than that he could really feel such a thing for Bucky.

Clint shook his head, turning on to his side where he could kiss Bucky. “I do mean it,” he said. “I promise, Bucky. I love you. You’re everything I could want in a husband, and even if I had had a free and clear choice, I would still have picked you.” He wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist, pulling him into an embrace while Bucky was still reeling from the unexpectedness of this. “I love you,” Clint said again, and Bucky felt himself shaking.

He pressed his face into Clint’s skin, wrapping his own arm around him. “Oh god, Clint,” he said. “I love you too, more than anything.”

Clint’s arms tightened around him in response and they just lay there together for a long time, while the rain started to patter against the window again, ignored by both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

It took them a while to leave Bucky’s bed. They used Bucky’s bath water -which was a lot cooler than it had been but still serviceable- to wash themselves, then Bucky let Clint help him dress rather than calling Falsworth. He wanted to stretch this feeling between the two of them for as long as possible, the way Clint’s hands were so gentle as they helped him with his shirt and he kept glancing at Bucky’s face with a blissful, relaxed smile. Bringing servants into the room would have felt like an intrusion.

After Clint had dressed himself, Bucky couldn’t resist moving in to kiss him. “I love you, sweetheart,” he said, because there were entirely too many emotions trapped in his chest and that felt like the only way to let them out. He remembered the signs Clint had used before and fumbled through them, one-handed, pressing the palm of his hand over his heart.

Clint smiled at him and kissed him again. “I love you too,” he said, and Bucky had never felt anything like this all-consuming happiness.

When they finally went down for lunch, it was very late. Bucky could see the amusement behind the professional expressions on the footmen’s faces as they served it, but he hoped Clint couldn’t. He didn’t want him to feel as if they had to moderate their behaviour in order to avoid being gossiped about by the servants.

Lady Barton didn’t return from her own lunch until late in the afternoon, by which time Clint was outside at his range despite the continuing drizzle, and Bucky was in the small drawing room, pretending to read but really watching Clint through the window, letting the memories of earlier flow through his mind.

That beautiful man loved him. How was he meant to do anything other than bask in the joy of that?

Lucky was settled at Bucky’s feet, having looked at the weather and decided that he’d stay with Bucky rather than go with Clint. He’d been with Kate at the stables earlier, when Clint had been looking. Bucky was rather amused by just how many people he’d managed to charm.

“Oh dear, I’m sorry to be out so late,” said Lady Barton when she came in, hands clutched together. “I entirely lost track of the time, I should have sent word. I’m so sorry.”

Bucky pulled his eyes away from Clint to look at her. She looked tense and nervous, much like Clint had been whenever he’d done something he’d perceived as wrong when he’d first arrived. 

Bucky just smiled at her, entirely too happy to do anything else right now. “Don’t worry yourself,” he said. “I hope you had a good time. Clint said you were with Lady van Dyne and Mrs Parker?”

“Yes,” she said, relaxing slightly in the face of his calm. “They are lovely women, very interesting. Did you know Lady van Dyne doesn’t live with her husband?”

“Yes,” said Bucky. “He’s on some years-long scientific voyage. Something to do with insects.” Bucky had never met him, but Sam had relayed the story to him. Lord Pym had a temper and occasionally that had shown itself in a violent form. Lady van Dyne had given him two opportunities to get himself under control, then arranged for him to go along on a voyage to various Pacific islands that was likely to last most of a decade. It had been an eminently practical way to deal with the situation and Bucky had a great deal of respect for her.

Of course, most of their money had come from her family and she still had a great deal of control over the purse-strings, which was what had allowed her to arrange that. Lady Barton’s situation wouldn’t allow a similar solution, even if Lord Barton had some scientific interest that could be leveraged in such a way.

A movement drew Bucky’s attention back to the window, where Clint had stopped shooting and was frowning in his direction, clearly wondering why his audience was distracted.

“Your mother is home,” Bucky signed to him. “Tea?”

Clint smiled and nodded. “I’ll be in soon,” he signed back, and turned to pack up his equipment.

Bucky rang the bell to order tea and smiled at Lady Barton, who had settled into a chair. “We’ll be having tea shortly,” he said. 

She was watching him with a soft look on his face. “I wanted to thank you,” she said. “You’re so kind with Clint, and I know it means such a lot to him that you have learnt sign language for him.”

Bucky wasn’t sure how to react to that, so he just ducked his head. “Of course,” he said. “It seemed like the least I could do, to make things easier for him.”

A sad look overtook her face. “I wanted to learn,” she said. “I managed a few lessons, but it wasn’t easy for me, I could never really remember the right signs. And then Lord Barton found out and, well.” She pressed her lips together and didn’t continue, but she didn’t need to. “I was glad that Barney learnt with him, though,” she said. “I had hoped he would, but he can be thoughtless sometimes. And now you’ve learnt as well, and Clint said Miss Romanov knows it.”

Bucky nodded. “She is far more fluent than I am.”

Lady Barton nodded. “Well, I just wanted to thank you,” she said. “I was so worried for Clint when he left, but being here, seeing his new life, it’s more than I could have hoped for. Thank you.”

“It’s a pleasure,” said Bucky, and then added, feeling vulnerable as he said it but it seemed as if she deserved to know that Clint was not the only one whose circumstances had improved after their marriage. “Having Clint here has been a blessing for me as well. He’s everything I could have hoped for in a husband.”

And a great deal more besides, he thought, considering the events of the day, but he wasn’t going to mention that to her.

Instead, his mind caught on what she had said, and what that implied about Lord Barton’s attitude towards sign language. “How is it that Clint and Barney were able to learn sign language if Lord Barton was set against it?”

Lady Barton looked caught out for a moment, then allowed herself a smile. “That was my doing,” she said. “We needed a new footman not long after the doctor told us that Clint’s hearing would never fully recover. He’d suggested sign language as an option to make things easier for him but I knew Lord Barton wouldn’t consider such a thing worth his while to arrange. So when the butler was looking for a new footman, I told him to hire one who knew sign language, even if it cost more, and then I arranged for him to spend two hours every afternoon teaching the boys.”

There was a choked sound and Bucky glanced over to see that Clint had paused in the doorway, his eyes fixed on his mother’s mouth. “You hired Webb?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why else do you think he was there?”

Clint shook his head and Bucky noticed that his hair was damp from the rain. Perhaps he should arrange for a shelter to be built over where Clint usually stood to shoot. “I thought it was just chance, and he always acted as if teaching us was something he did in his free time.”

Lady Barton nodded. “I didn’t want Lord Barton to find out,” she said. “Webb and I agreed that he would pretend it was something he was doing out of the goodness of his heart, and that if Lord Barton found out and let him go, I would pay him a leaving fee. It was the last of the money I brought with me to the marriage, but it was worth it. You were so much happier when you were able to talk to at least Barney without difficulty.”

“And Mr Roberts?” asked Clint, coming further into the room.

Lady Barton shrugged. “It made sense for you to have a tutor who would be able to communicate, and Lord Barton never looked at the advertisements so it wasn’t hard to add sign language as a requirement.”

Clint’s smile swept across his face. “Thank you,” he said, whole heartedly, and signed it at the same time.

“Of course,” she said, shrugging as if his gratitude made her uncomfortable. “I could do so little for you, but I managed to do at least that. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to manage it with your tutors after Mr Roberts.”

The maids came in with the tea things, interrupting the moment, and Clint sat down to join them for tea.

Bucky watched Lady Barton’s fond smile as Clint poured for her, and hoped that he’d be able to find a solution for her situation that was as neat and satisfying as Lady van Dyne’s had been.

****

That night, when they went up to bed, Clint and Bucky paused at the table between their rooms as usual. The difference this time was that Clint leaned in to kiss Bucky and then said, “I will change, and then come through to your room?”

“I would love that,” said Bucky, and Clint smiled back, then ducked into his room.

Bucky went into his room still smiling, because he wasn’t going to have to say goodnight to his husband, he was going to spend the whole night beside him, and wake up beside him, and perhaps engage in other activities as well.

And his husband loved him.

All afternoon, through dinner and afterwards, when they had been sat with Lady Barton, Bucky had been struck by the thought every so often, and it had taken his breath away every single time. He’d looked over at Clint, unable to hold in a smile, and Clint had smiled back, looking just as giddily happy. 

It was everything Bucky could have hoped for, and far more than he felt he deserved.

****

The rain had cleared up the next morning, although it was still rather cold. Clint went with Bucky on his ride and they ended up pausing on a hilltop where there was an excellent view of their surroundings.

“I really do like this area,” said Clint, looking around at the hills. “It’s strange how it already feels like home. It’s not even been four months, but I can’t imagine living anywhere else now.”

Bucky wondered how he was meant to contain this much happiness without overflowing with it.

“That is the dowager house I mentioned,” he said, pointing to the large square building at the foot of the hill. It had a small garden filled with flowers.

Clint looked down, then glanced back in the direction of Brooklyn. “It’s an easy distance, even walking,” he said. “But it would give her her own space.”

Bucky nodded. “Mrs Parker lives there,” he said, pointing to a house a little further away, “and Lady van Dyne is the other side of that hill.”

“She did seem to enjoy their company yesterday,” agreed Clint.

“And I enjoyed her absence then, while I monopolised your attention,” said Bucky.

Clint snorted, flushing pink at the reference to their activities. They had come together that morning as well, Clint already moving with more confidence as he’d opened Bucky up and then taken him apart, every movement serving only to heighten Bucky’s pleasure. If he were so talented in the area already, Bucky could only imagine how things between them would be in a few months’ time. He wondered if it were possible to expire from pleasure.

When they returned to Brooklyn the post had arrived, including letters for Bucky from both Earl Stark and Miss Romanov. Bucky took them up to his room with him when he went to wash and change for lunch and read them there.

_Dear Barnes,_

_I am delighted to find that you’ve taken up the abduction of middle-aged women. I think we can both agree that it was past time you found a hobby that wasn’t scowling at parties, especially as you have rendered your main occupation of pining for archers moot by marrying one._

_Your actions have caused a great deal of excitement in the neighbourhood. Lord Barton has come to twice as many engagements as he generally would, solely to decry your infamy and talk loudly about the audacity of a ‘trumped up sheep farmer’ getting involved in the actions of the nobility. Sir Lang did ask, with an attempt at that innocent air that he’s never been able to pull off, if you weren’t married to Lord Barton’s son and why he would have agreed to the match if you were so ill-born as he’s been implying, and got a snarl in response but no actual answer._

_It may be of interest of you to learn that, as well as defaming your character and family to anyone who stands near him, Lord Barton had been spending a great deal of time at the gambling tables, as has been his wont since your marriage. I fear he is becoming even less successful than he has been in the past. I’ve been told that he owes Lord Fisk nearly a hundred pounds now. As he still seems happy to spread money around, I can only assume that he is relying on some form of income to cover his debts. I also heard Lord Fisk say that if the debt is not cleared in a timely manner, he intends to take one or two of Lord Barton’s horses in lieu of payment. I understand Lord Barton is rather fond of being able to boast of the contents of his stable, although I’m sure I’ve never seen him ride._

_In other news, your Captain is still here, and yes, he is your Captain rather than my friend when he’s like this. He’s cluttering the place up with his angst and troubled sighs. I have tried to tell him that he is making entirely too much of this and should just go to where happiness can find him, but he seems insistent that he must suffer through his emotions rather than giving in to romantic bliss. Please find some way to deal with him, he won’t listen to me at all._

_yours,_   
_Stark_

Bucky sighed after reading that. Of course Steve was still insisting on making heavy weather of his situation with Reverend Wilson, rather than just giving in and letting himself be happy. The information about Lord Barton and his debts was interesting, however. Bucky could remember Clint saying something similar about his father’s horses, that he kept them up as a status symbol.

He opened the letter from Miss Romanov to find that it was shorter and terser than Stark’s rambling style.

_Lieutenant Barnes,_

_I heard a story you might be interested in. It seems that Lord Barton recently procured a large amount of French brandy that I’m sure he would be horrified to learn had been smuggled over the channel. However, the shipment was being transported by a carriage that was caught up in an accident with a stagecoach, and then seized by the constabulary as illegal goods._

_The merchant organising the shipment had been paid up front and disappeared as soon as there was a chance of arrest, and so Lord Barton was left with neither money nor brandy. He doesn’t seem to have been disheartened by this, however, as I heard that he has already ordered a replacement shipment. Clearly, he feels he has money to burn these days._

_This time, however, he has only paid half upfront, and is expected to pay the rest on delivery. I can only imagine how a gang of smugglers would react if he didn’t have the money._

_yours,_

_Miss Natasha Romanov_

Bucky set both letters down and frowned through the window at the clouded sky. That Miss Romanov would have information about an illegal trade came as very little surprise, given the job he knew she’d done for Colonel Fury during the war, when she had pretended to be a disaffected and empty-headed Russian noblewoman, flirting with the French officers and passing on all that she’d learnt from them. 

That Lord Barton was being so profligate with the money Bucky had paid him in exchange for Clint’s hand was rather more surprising, although perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Still, between Stark’s tales of his gambling debts and the amount he must have lost on purchasing smuggled brandy, the first payment Bucky had given him must have been all but eaten up.

The money that Bucky had agreed to pay Lord Barton had seemed like a fair amount at the time, when it meant getting Clint away from him and to a place where Bucky might start to get to know him. Now that he had spent several months with Clint, and knew that he was so much more than he ever could have dreamed of, it seemed like a pittance. He would have happily paid far, far more just to have Clint with him, even if it had meant selling Brooklyn and living in a hovel with him.

****

The day that marked the week deadline that Lord Barton had given Lady Barton passed normally enough, although Bucky could see Lady Barton getting quieter as the day went on, occasionally glancing out of the window towards the drive as if expecting him to be coming for her already.

“Perhaps I should go home after all,” she said at dinner, quietly enough that Bucky could tell Clint hadn’t caught it.

“Nonsense,” he said, carefully signing what she’d said for Clint’s benefit.

“Oh no,” said Clint. “You’re not going back there, mother. Not now.”

“Besides,” added Bucky, “I’ve invited Lady van Dyne, Mrs Parker, and the Reverend for lunch on Saturday. They’re coming as much to see you as Clint and I.”

Lady Barton gave Bucky a similar look to the nonplussed expression Clint always had when Bucky presented him with a present. “Oh, that’s very kind of you.”

“Nonsense,” said Bucky. “I‘m rather behind on my social obligations to my neighbours. Thank you for giving me an excuse to try and catch up.”

“You’ll definitely have to stay for that,” said Clint. “You can’t leave us to host alone, we’ll no doubt make a mess of it.”

She managed a smile. “I should imagine so,” she said, and didn’t mention going back to Lord Barton again.

Clint caught Bucky’s eye and signed, “Thank you,” and Bucky had to dip his head towards his meal to avoid smiling at him like the besotted fool he was.

****

It was another two days before anything happened. Bucky found himself on alert, as if waiting for a battle to begin, and he could tell from the quiet way that Clint and Lady Barton stayed near to the house that they felt the same.

Bucky refused to let the tense atmosphere interrupt his daily routine. He may have kept Alpine closer to Brooklyn than was normal, but he still went riding every morning.

Coming back from his daily ride one morning to find Clint coming in from his range, jacket over his arm and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, filled Bucky with a warm wave of affection when they met in the entrance hall, both heading upstairs to change for lunch. _My husband,_ he thought to himself, thrilling at the knowledge that Clint was his husband in every way that counted now, not just in name only.

“Good morning,” said Bucky, signing it as well. Lucky was at Clint’s heels, but he came over to nuzzle Bucky in greeting.

Clint beamed back. “Good morning,” he said, looking just as pleased as Bucky felt, as if they hadn’t woken up next to each other. Clint had smiled then too, before rolling into Bucky’s embrace and pressing sleepy, fumbling kisses to his mouth.

Bucky reached out for Clint’s hand, tucking his riding prosthetic tighter against his body so he could draw Clint in for a kiss. “Do you have plans for this afternoon?”

“Not really,” said Clint. “I think the weather is turning bad again so I will probably stay indoors. If you’re not busy, perhaps another game or three of billiards?”

Bucky thought about watching Clint stretch over the billiards table, making astonishingly skilful shots while sending self-satisfied grins at Bucky. “Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea.”

The front door slammed open and Bucky turned in surprise, because the servants didn’t use that door and Lady Barton wouldn’t have come through it as if being chased by half the French Army.

It was one of gatekeeper’s children. His eyes went wide when he realised that both his masters were staring at him. “Sorry, sir, so sorry, sir, my lord,” he gabbled. “But father said to come as quick as I could. It’s Lord Barton, sir, he’s arrived with men, lots of men,and he threatened father when he wouldn’t open the gate and he looks powerful angry.”

Clint drew in a sharp breath and when Bucky glanced at him, his face had gone white with fear. “Find your mother,” he said to him. “Get her upstairs and out of sight, and stay with her.”

Clint looked torn for a moment, as if he wanted to be able to offer to do more than that, then he just nodded and dashed away up the stairs with Lucky bounding along behind him.

Bucky turned back to the boy. “Find Falsworth or Morita, or any of them, tell them to get everyone together and come to the front of the house as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir,” gasped the boy and dashed off towards the kitchen.

Bucky could hear hoofbeats and the clatter of carriage wheels outside. The boy must have sprinted to get here before Lord Barton, but he hadn’t bought them much time. Hopefully it would be enough. Bucky took a deep breath, set his shoulders back, and pushed open his front door to greet the invaders.

The Baron had brought two carriages of men and was already clambering out of the first one, face red with rage and exertion. The moment he caught sight of Bucky, he started shouting. “What in the devil’s name have you done with my wife? I demand you bring her out!”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly subject her to spending a moment longer in your presence,” said Bucky, eyeing the men who were forming up behind Lord Barton. None of them were constabulary and most of them were dressed in Lord Barton’s livery. He must have bypassed the official channels for now and just brought over his own men. 

Men who bore the distinctive posture and look of soldiers. Lord Barton must have taken advantage of the glut of unemployed soldiers returned from the war to fill the ranks of his servants, which no doubt was necessary when he went through footmen as fast as Clint had implied. Several of them looked rather rough for serving at table but all too happy to be clutching heavy staffs in their hands.

“The damn cheek of it!” roared Lord Barton, and Bucky focused his attention back on him. Lord Barton strode closer, fists clenched, but Bucky had been threatened by far scarier men than him in his time, and his furious bluster didn’t intimidate him in the way he was clearly hoping for. “Do you know who you’re talking to, you jumped up little shit? I am the 33rd Baron of Waverley, a peer of the realm. I can trace my blood back to kings on both sides! Who can you trace your blood back to? Some miserable peasant and his favourite sheep, no doubt!”

Bucky clenched his jaw, shifting his weight on his toes as the Baron poured his bile out at him, and barely kept himself from lashing out in anger.

That wouldn’t do, though. If he struck first, the Baron would be able to play the victim, accuse Bucky of assaulting him and drag Bucky through the courts, and his family’s name through the mud. Besides, he needed to stall him until he could be sure that Clint and his mother were hidden safely away.

“My lord, you forget yourself,” he said, as cuttingly as he could. “It doesn’t become anyone to speak so vulgarly, let alone a peer of the realm.”

Lord Barton snarled at him. “I’ll speak however I want to the cur that keeps my wife from me. Give me the damn woman back, or you will regret it.”

“The lady gets to make her own choices,” said Bucky. “Perhaps if you hadn’t treated her so badly, she wouldn’t have left in the first place. Now, if you are here to apologise for hurting her, and to make amends, then perhaps you will be able to speak to her today, although I can’t promise she will return to you until you have proved yourself trustworthy, otherwise-”

He wasn’t allowed to finish. Lord Barton let out a snarl of rage, grabbed a staff from the footman at his side and swung it sharply at Bucky, apparently done with talking.

It was aimed at Bucky’s left side, which was the only thing that saved him from a painful injury. He was still wearing his riding prosthetic and raised it as he stepped backwards, taking the force of the blow on the wooden and metal construction that Stark had worked so hard on.

Parts of it shattered as the staff crashed against it and Bucky felt the strapping pull hard around his shoulder, shifting out of alignment, but it held the blow off. He stepped backwards again, wishing he had had a chance to find a weapon and hoping that Falsworth and the others would show up soon. He wasn’t used to fighting without his men at his back, and he didn’t want to face all the Baron’s thugs alone.

Lord Barton made another strangled noise of rage and raised the staff again. Bucky prepared himself to duck under the next blow, hoping both that he would be able to move faster than an unhealthy old man and that the Baron’s men wouldn’t intercede just yet.

Just as Lord Barton was about to attack again though, there was a whistling noise and an arrow sprouted in the ground at his feet.

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on my husband,” called Clint’s voice from behind Bucky, and his heart clenched in his chest.

Oh god, what was Clint doing putting himself in danger?

“You ungrateful bastard!” spat the Baron and started forward again, only to stumble backwards when this time two arrows landed at his feet.

“Don’t think I’ll hesitate to put one in your chest if I need to,” said Clint, and Bucky couldn’t keep himself from glancing back at him, for all he should be keeping his eye on the enemy.

Clint was posed like a Greek statue on the edge of the porch, bow in hand and a quiver slung on his belt. He already had another two arrows nocked and ready to shoot. If Bucky had thought he looked arousing when he was at his range, that was nothing to how he looked now, his shirt sleeves still rolled up, his bow in his hand, and his jaw clenched with determination. That was an image that Bucky could already tell he would return to again and again.

Clint caught Bucky’s eye and flashed him the briefest smile that did nothing to hide his fear, and suddenly Bucky was overwhelmingly glad he was there.

Clint had been so scared of just the memory of his father’s rage that he had hidden an injured dog from Bucky for fear of provoking something similar. Bucky’s heart had broken for him back then, as he’d haltingly explained just how thoroughly his father’s actions had shaped his character, but he was here now, proving to everyone that he was so much more than anything his father had made him.

“I suggest you stay where you are,” said Bucky, turning back to the Baron with a smile. “My husband is an excellent shot.”

Lord Barton growled but dropped the hand holding the staff, clearly unwilling to risk being shot. “I should have knocked more than the hearing out of you,” he snarled at Clint. “You useless waste of space.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” Clint called back. “Some bastard destroyed my hearing.” Bucky couldn’t keep in a snort of amusement.

Just then, the cavalry arrived in the form of Falsworth and the other men who had fought with Bucky in the Rifles, all armed with guns they must have borrowed from the gunroom, as well as most of the footmen led by Mr Wilkins looking absolutely furious. Bucky hadn’t expected more than the old soldiers to come to his aid and was warmed with how readily all of the servants came to stand at his back, staring down the Baron’s men. Good lord, even Kate was here, skipping over to Clint’s side with a bow in her hand.

“How are you doing, Lieutenant?” asked Falsworth, coming up on his right and passing him a pistol.

“All the better for having you here, Sergeant,” said Bucky, letting the familiar weight of a gun in his hand settle him in a way he’d been hoping he’d left behind in Spain. “I believe we’ve come to an impasse,” he said to Lord Barton.

The Baron looked absolutely furious, but he was looking around at the men backing Bucky up and clearly realising that he was outnumbered, outarmed, and that his own men were beginning to shift on their heels, not nearly loyal enough to hang around to back him up.

“Next time I’ll bring the constabulary,” he said to Bucky. “You won’t threaten them with guns to keep a man from his wife. She’s mine, you know, my lawful property, and if I want her back home, I will have her.”

“Indeed,” acknowledged Bucky, because if the law really did get involved, there was very little Bucky could do. “However, I think you’re missing a rather important point, which is that my husband is lawfully _mine_ in the same way.”

Lord Barton scowled at him. “What the fuck does that matter? I’ve no wish to have that useless brat back.”

“No?” said Bucky. “Very well, then, it won’t matter to you if I forgo our agreement and stop the quarterly payments we agreed, starting with the one due next week. There’s no legal force to prevent me, after all, and indeed, there would be a legal intervention if you tried to take back your side of the bargain. I’m sure the 33rd Baron of Waverley, who comes from such an old and noble line, won’t have let things get to such a state that without the money of a trumped up peasant, his debtors will take his horses and he’ll find himself in trouble with a smuggling gang. I’m sure you have some way to keep paying the wages of the men standing behind you without selling off your ancestral lands. There’s no way that you would keep throwing money around as you have for your whole life, losing more and more of your estate until there’s nothing left but a shepherd’s hut and perhaps, if you’re lucky, a favourite sheep.”

He hadn’t realised just how much he had resented having to go bowing and scraping to Lord Barton to gain Clint’s hand in marriage until he saw the bastard cower under his threats, his face going white.

“You wouldn’t dare,” snapped the Baron, but he didn’t sound as if he truly believed Bucky wouldn’t. “We made an agreement. A gentleman is only as good as his word.”

“You have repeatedly told me I’m not a gentleman,” Bucky reminded him. “I even have it in writing.”

“I think it’s time for you to go now, father,” said Clint, and Bucky realised he’d come up to stand at Bucky’s side, his bow still in his hand. Coulson was next to him, looking more competent with a gun in his hands than Bucky would have expected. “You’re not welcome in my home.”

He was staring his father down with a steady, hard glare and, God, Bucky loved him so much.

“And if you make any further attempts to prevent Lady Barton from living her life as she chooses, or even say a single word in polite society that implies she doesn’t have your full blessing to live with her son, I will cut you off without any further discussion,” added Bucky.

Lord Barton snarled at him again, but he waved to his men, and they all got back in their carriages and left Brooklyn.

The moment they were out of sight Bucky immediately turned to Clint, whose face was radiant with joy. “Oh god,” he said, “Bucky, my god, we did it!”

“You did it,” corrected Bucky. “You showed your father what it feels like to be afraid.” He took hold of Clint’s arm, squeezing it with success. “And now neither you nor your mother ever have to be afraid again.”

Clint’s face was so beautiful, his eyes bright with happiness and the wide curl of his smile transforming his face until he was nearly unrecognisable as the angry, frightened man who had first moved to Brooklyn. Bucky couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss him and Clint opened up to him, kissing him back with just as much passion. Around them, Bucky could hear the servants all congratulating each other, the voices of both the old Brooklyn servants and Bucky’s army comrades blending together. Apparently all he’d needed to do to fix the rift between them was give them a common enemy.

Clint pulled away before Bucky was quite ready to let him go, but he let him slip from his arms, content that he’d be back in them before the end of the day. “I need to tell mother,” he said, and Bucky nodded to him. He watched him jog back into the house, still clutching his bow, before turning to Wilkins.

“That was well done,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir,” said Wilkins, as if surprised Bucky would need to say anything.

“If you could convey my thanks to the whole household,” said Bucky. “Perhaps by opening up the wine cellar for this evening.”

There was a general cheer at that pronouncement that Bucky waved in acknowledgement of, then he went inside after his husband.

****

He didn’t hunt him down immediately, leaving him to explain the events to Lady Barton alone. Clint had stood up to his father, he deserved to be the one to let his mother know she was safe and free.

Instead, Bucky went to his bedroom, where he sat on the edge of the bed and let the adrenalin of the encounter slowly ebb from his body. He took off his waistcoat and shirt slowly and awkwardly so that he could inspect the ruins of his riding prosthetic and winced at the destruction.

Clint came in while he was examining how the straps had shifted and wondering how long Falsworth would be outside celebrating with the other servants. The blow had twisted them around and wrenched some of the buckles such that it would be tricky to take off even with assistance.

“Oh no,” Clint said, coming over to Bucky’s side to examine it. “That doesn’t look good.”

Bucky shook his head. “I shall have to ask Stark for a new one,” he said tiredly, because asking Stark for a favour was always a trial in avoiding being given something kitted out with entirely too many extras, and liable to explode. “How is your mother?”

“Extremely relieved and rather overwhelmed with joy,” said Clint. “She asked to be left alone so she could come to terms with it all.” He bent his head to examine the straps around Bucky’s shoulder, then looked at him. “Will you let me help you with this?”

Bucky took a deep breath, then nodded. After all, he had no secrets from Clint anymore. He had seen every part of Bucky’s body, and only ever seemed eager to see more.

“Thank you,” said Clint, cupping his hand around Bucky’s face for a moment with a sincere and grateful smile before turning his attention back to the straps. “These are a mess,” he added. “It may take me a few minutes.”

“That’s fine,” said Bucky. “We have the rest of our lives.”

Clint snorted as he started to pick at the straps, and Bucky took a moment to just enjoy having his husband’s hands so close to his skin, working to help him.

“I love you,” he said, because it had been several hours since he’d last said it and he felt it needed repeating.

“Yes,” agreed Clint, sounding distracted as he pulled on something that made the prosthetic shift uncomfortably against Bucky’s stump. “Sorry, sorry.” He did something that made it move back, which wasn’t much of an improvement, but Bucky was content to sit and put up with it until Clint had him free.

“I love you too, of course,” added Clint, a few seconds later.

Bucky laughed. “Of course,” he repeated, because it seemed ridiculous that such a phrase should apply to the miracle of Clint loving him.

“Well, what else could I have done, when such a kind, handsome man dedicated himself to my happiness?” asked Clint.

Bucky rolled his eyes to himself, but he couldn’t shift the smile from his face. Clint loved him, Lady Barton was free of her husband, and the Baron was never going to be in a position to threaten any of the people Bucky loved again. Why shouldn’t he smile?

Clint pulled on a strap and it gave, making the prosthetic slump down. “Hah,” he muttered, and started working on one of the others. A few minutes passed and then he asked, in a casual tone that didn’t fool Bucky for a moment, “Exactly how much did you pay my father to marry me?”

“Five hundred on the day of the wedding, and two hundred every quarter thereafter, until either your death, his death or my death, whichever came first,” said Bucky, because he wasn’t going to keep this a secret even if he’d have preferred Clint to never know. “Frankly, I am rather hoping for his death to be the soonest.”

“My god,” said Clint, pulling away to stare at Bucky. “Bucky! That’s a lot of money.”

Bucky shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t still all caught up in the remains of his prosthetic. “It was more than worth it. _You’re_ more than worth it; I would have paid a great deal more than that. And now it is protecting your mother as well,” he added. “It is money well spent.”

Clint stared at him for a long moment, then leaned in to kiss him, hands grabbing hold of Bucky’s shoulders as he took control of his mouth, hot and heavy.

“God, I need to get this off,” he muttered, going back to Bucky’s prosthetic. “I want to feel you under me.”

Bucky thought back to how Clint had looked, holding his bow and threatening his father, and felt his cock stir. “Yes,” he agreed. “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

****

The weather that Saturday was warm and bright for the time of year, and Bucky contemplated changing the lunch engagement to a picnic before remembering that Clint found hearing easier indoors, without the scattered noises of the wind and birds. If people wanted to enjoy the weather, there was always the opportunity for a walk after lunch.

At any rate, Lady Barton had taken over most of the preparations and already had the morning room laid up for them. It had taken her a day or two to realise that she was finally free of her husband but once she had, she had started making plans with a rapidity that made Bucky think she had been waiting for this moment for years. No doubt she had assumed that her husband, who was both older and not particularly careful with his health, would die before her, and she’d spent some time considering the best way to enjoy her widowhood. Now that she didn’t have to wait for that, she had dived right in to enacting her plans.

She already had visits arranged to two of her sisters whom she hadn’t seen since shortly after her marriage, and was discussing a trip to Bath with Mrs Parker and Lady van Dyne as well, which would nicely fill the time before the dowager house would be ready for her to move into.

When Mrs Parker and Lady van Dyne arrived, they greeted Lady Barton as if she were an old friend already. Bucky edged around their group to shake Wilson’s hand.

“Good morning,” said Wilson. “I hear you’ve been having some excitement, although I’m not sure I can credit all the talk going around about it. Apparently you held off a whole army.”

“It was a group of thugs led by a bully,” said Bucky. “My husband had them subdued almost single-handedly.”

Wilson eyed his face. “Some day you’re going to be able to mention him without that self-satisfied smile,” he said. “It’s almost inappropriate, you know, to be so in love with the man you’re married to.”

Bucky let his smile widen even further. “I defy any man to be married to Clint and not be completely in love with him.”

“Oh god,” muttered Wilson.

“How’s your own love life?” asked Bucky. “Or should I not ask?”

Wilson’s face went tired and sad. “I wrote to him,” he said. “I set out all my feelings, and my hopes. That was three days ago.” He gave a helpless shrug. “I’ve heard nothing.”

Bucky let out a sigh. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Steve is a fool sometimes. You know he feels the same for you, don’t you? He’s just all caught up in guilt that he never should have felt to start with. What happened to Peggy wasn’t his fault, and yet he persists in wallowing in it.”

Wilson shook his head. “I’m beginning to think it’s not meant to be,” he said, and he sounded so resigned that if Steve had been within travelling distance, Bucky would have punched him for putting a good man through so much unnecessary drama. He loved the man like a brother, but sometimes he didn’t see beyond his own nose.

Clint came in, finding a smile for the group although Bucky could see the nervousness clinging to him at the idea of a social engagement. “You look beautiful, sweetheart,” he signed at him, just to see his smile turn flushed. He hadn’t really appreciated the value of learning sign language for communicating inappropriate sentiments in polite company before Lady Barton had come to stay, but he was rapidly becoming a convert.

“At least one of us is happy,” said Wilson, clapping a hand to Bucky’s shoulder. “Well, two of us, I suppose,” he said, looking at Clint. “Congratulations, Barnes, I didn’t think it was possible for a marriage that started like yours did to be such a success.”

Bucky felt his smile grow smug again, but did nothing to correct it. “Shall we go through to lunch?” he asked instead, because he didn’t think it would be polite to keep rubbing in his happiness when Wilson’s own lovelife was in such a state of disaster.

They were halfway through dessert and Bucky was watching Clint’s face to make sure he was catching the conversation, occasionally signing translations when he thought Clint was missing parts of it. He was far more interested in Clint’s engagement with the group than the conversation itself, after all.

There was a bang from the front door and the whole table started, Clint and Lady Barton more than the others. Bucky rose to his feet as footsteps pounded down the hallway, his mind leaping to Lord Barton returning with the constabulary and all their carefully constructed plans falling apart. He caught the eye of the nearest footman, Daniel, and was gratified to see the man standing up straighter, gripping the tray in his hands as if intending to use it as a weapon.

The door flung open, but instead of Lord Barton, or a member of the law come to cart Lady Barton off, it was Steve.

Bucky let out a sigh, because of course the idiot was dashing about as if there were a fire. “What are you-?” he started, but Steve didn’t so much as glance at him.

“Sam,” he said, through gasping breaths. “Sam, please. I need to talk to you.”

Wilson had remained seated and just gave him a cool stare. “Are you sure this is the best time?” he asked.

Steve’s eyes darted around the room as just realising that he had intruded on a lunch party, and that he was being stared at with great interest by Mrs Parker and Lady van Dyne, who were no doubt already thrilled at being able to spread this gossip all around the neighbourhood. Bucky wondered when his house had become the centre of so much drama when all he’d wanted since returning from Spain was a quiet life.

“I beg your pardons,” said Steve, managing a vague bow of apology. “I need to borrow the Reverend for a few minutes.”

“You wouldn’t like to stop for coffee with us first?” asked Lady van Dyne with a carefully neutral expression. Steve shot a look of pure panicked desperation at her, as if he really thought he was going to have to sit through polite conversation before being able to drag Wilson off for whatever he wanted him for.

Wilson sighed and stood up. “You’re lucky I’m a very patient man,” he said. He nodded at Bucky. “Please excuse me, Barnes, I think I should take a turn around your garden with this lunatic.”

“Of course,” said Bucky, sitting back down. “I hope you enjoy yourself.”

Wilson just rolled his eyes, but Bucky could see he was covering a smile. The fact that Steve had come from Stark’s in response to his letter, and with such drama, had to be a good sign, surely?

God, Bucky hoped so. He didn’t want to watch Steve ruin this for himself any more than he wanted Wilson to be unhappy.

Steve and Wilson withdrew from the room.

“I had no idea that there was so much going on at Brooklyn,” said Lady van Dyne brightly. “It’s rather exciting.”

“Usually we try to contain the theatrics,” said Bucky, “but unfortunately Captain Rogers got used to making bold actions during the war, and hasn’t quite lost the habit.”

“Oh, there they are,” said Mrs Parker, and they all turned to look through the window as Wilson and Steve walked across the lawn. Steve looked as if he were explaining something, making sweeping arm movements as Wilson watched him.

“It does look serious,” remarked Lady van Dyne as Wilson started to shake his head, then Steve caught his arm. “If only we could hear what they were saying.”

Clint cleared his throat. “Captain Rogers’s lips are rather easy to read,” he said, and the table all turned to look at him. “I’m not sure if it’s entirely right for me to reveal the details of a private conversation.”

Lady Barton sighed. “You’re probably correct,” she said. “Shall we-?” She started to reach for the coffee pot to pour for everyone, when Mrs Parker drew in a breath.

“Oh, is he-?”

Bucky turned to look again. Steve had gone to one knee in front of Wilson, no doubt covering his breeches in mud, and was clinging to both Wilson’s hands as he spoke rapidly. “Clint?” he asked.

Clint cleared his throat. “Yes, it’s what it looks like. He’s asked the Reverend to marry him.”

“Oh,” said Mrs Parker with delight. “How lovely!”

There was a tense pause during which they all stared at the couple and Bucky wondered if he shouldn’t have tried to preserve Steve’s privacy by directing the guests’ attention away from the window. He was as eager to find out what was happening as any of them though, and if Steve wanted privacy, he shouldn’t have chosen the patch of lawn that was clearly visible from the room he knew everyone was in.

“Clint?” he asked, glancing over at him.

Clint was frowning at Wilson as he replied something. “He’s calling him an idiot,” he said, “and… Ah. He’s said yes.”

They hardly needed Clint to tell them, because Steve reacted to Wilson’s words by standing back up and drawing him into a passionate kiss that wasn’t at all suitable for public view.

“Oh, good for them,” said Lady van Dyne. “We should have champagne ready for when they return.” She gave Bucky a guileless smile and Bucky sighed, glancing at Daniel and nodding. Daniel immediately disappeared.

“I still wonder at his eagerness,” said Mrs Parker. “In my experience, no man is that keen for matrimony.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “I was,” he said, and caught Clint’s eye to smile at him. He rather lost a few seconds caught in the smile he got in return, and he found himself wondering, once again, if he could get Steve to paint it for him. He thought that Clint was far more likely to agree to sit for such a portrait now, certainly more than he had been when Bucky had first mentioned it to him.

By the time Steve and Wilson made it back inside the house, champagne had been poured for all the guests and two glasses were waiting for them.

“I suppose I don’t need to give you our news, then,” said Steve, as Bucky handed one to him.

“I’ve been waiting long enough for you to get your act together,” said Bucky, then picked up his own glass to raise it in Wilson’s direction. “Congratulations on getting engaged to this idiot, Reverend. I wish you luck.”

Wilson laughed and smiled at Steve with a fond look that Bucky had a feeling meant he was going to get dragged along on entirely too many of Steve’s crusades. “I’ll almost certainly need it.”

The lunch party didn’t break up for another hour or so. Steve left to walk back to the vicarage with Wilson and the ladies headed home in Lady van Dyne’s carriage, clearly looking forward to talking through the events in great detail. Lady Barton thanked Bucky for arranging the lunch, then retired to the sitting room Bucky had set aside for her when he’d realised how much she valued her solitude.

“I think I shall take advantage of the sun to spend some time at the range,” said Clint, glancing out at the bright sunlight that was still beaming down.

“May I join you?” asked Bucky, because nothing sounded better right now than getting to enjoy the sight of his husband showing off his skills while the sun glinted off his hair.

“If you’d like,” said Clint, smiling at him, and Bucky couldn’t keep himself from leaning in to kiss him.

His husband. God, he wondered if Steve and Wilson would even manage to be half as happy in their marriage as Bucky was in his. He hoped so.

****

Bucky pulled over a chair from the veranda so that he could settle and watch Clint shooting. Lucky made a good effort to climb into his lap before deciding there wasn’t enough space and flopping down by his feet instead. Bucky reached down to stroke over his ears in consolation. Perhaps they should find a small sofa for the veranda for moments such as this, so that both Clint’s husband and his dog could sit in comfort while admiring his skills.

“Very well, impress me,” said Bucky, as if that would be difficult for Clint when he’d been impressing Bucky since the moment he’d first seen him.

“Let me show you my latest trick,” said Clint, pulling two arrows from his quiver.

There were two haybales in the middle of the range, stacked one on the other like a column. Clint stood where it was directly between him and the target, where he wouldn’t even be able to see the bullseye, then nocked the first arrow, keeping the second in his hand.

“You are going to shoot through the bale?” asked Bucky.

Clint flashed him a confident grin. “Not quite.” He drew back and shot the first arrow, then immediately nocked and shot the second while the first was still in the air. Rather than go through the bale, they both curved around it on opposite sides, then the first one hit the dead centre of the target. While Bucky was still reeling from watching an arrow curve around an obstacle like that, the second arrow hit, right on top of the first so that it split right down the middle.

It was the most incredible thing Bucky had ever seen. “Marry me,” he breathed as he stared in awe, the same way as he had the first time he’d seen Clint shoot, and then again at Waverley Hall before his marriage, and countless times after that, every time Clint took his breath away with a seemingly miraculous shot.

Unlike all those other times, rather than either completely missing Bucky’s words or just giving Bucky the confused smile that meant he hadn’t heard but didn’t want to ask for a repeat, Clint turned to Bucky with an amused smile that meant he’d heard and was about to ridicule him for proposing when they’d been married four months already.

His smile faded when he saw the look on Bucky’s face and clearly realised just how fervently Bucky meant it.

God, just how fervently he’d meant it every time.

Bucky shook his head, going faintly pink. “I didn’t mean-” he started, but Clint didn’t let him finish. A look of realisation came over his face, then he stepped closer, setting his bow down so that he could take Bucky’s hand in both of his.

“I, Clinton Francis Barnes, take thee James Buchanan Barnes, to my wedded husband,” he recited, “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

All Bucky could do was stare at him, shock running through him at hearing the words he’d spent so many years longing for said in a calm, confident tone rather than the stuttered hesitance of their wedding ceremony. 

“Clint,” he said in a wavering voice, then he cleared his throat. “We already did that, remember?” he said, but he wasn’t quite able to make it the joke he was aiming for.

“You once told me that you wouldn’t hold me to those vows because I hadn’t had a choice in making them,” Clint said. “I’m making my choice now. Bucky, I’m really glad I’m married to you. I want you to know that I’m completely committed to our marriage, to you.”

“Clint,” breathed Bucky, too caught up in his emotions to manage much more than that. “I love you,” he added, because those words always came easily to him, then he stood up so he could reach to kiss Clint.

His husband. His husband, who had chosen Bucky just as surely as Bucky had chosen him. His husband, who had given Bucky a chance to prove himself and somehow fallen in love with him along the way. His husband, who had chosen to make those vows now that he knew Bucky as well as he did after their months together. 

His husband.


End file.
